Chapter 6
Six
Thorn
I needed to check on River’s security.
That’s ostensibly why I called Pascal—the head Brooks’s security team and one of the most important men in my life.
Not that I let anyone know the last.
Pascal and my history is…complicated to say the least.
But when I asked him for River’s address, he didn’t hesitate in giving it.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
I turn to River, tearing my gaze away from the parking lot, from the sensation of being watched, and shrug. “Wanted to check out your place.”
“Y-you—” She shakes her head, dislodging a strand of hair from the messy bun on top of her head. It falls forward, curls around her cheek. “You wanted to check out my place?” she asks, clearly aghast.
Another shrug. “Yup.”
“Wh-what—” She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Have you lost your freaking mind?”
“Nope.” I snag the keys from her hand, unlock her door. “Come on inside. You’re hungry.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“You’re grumpier than usual.” I push the door wide.
“Grump— I’m not a grumpy person, Thorn!” She glares as she walks inside. “People think I’m a delight.”
“You are.” I follow her in. “Just not with me.”
“Just not—” She gapes at me.
I take advantage of the pause in her words to close and lock her door. But I freeze before I turn back. Then frown at the heavy wooden chair beside it, a sinking sensation twisting my insides.
“I’m hungry too,” I manage to say, forcing my feet to rotate.
Knowing—or maybe hoping—that she won’t be able to resist feeding me.
Taking care of people seems to be in her blood.
“I made you dinner,” she says woodenly.
“Brooks and Briar were too busy making love eyes at each other to notice me slipping out.”
Her mouth tips up at the edges.
But only for a second.
“I thought you and Brooks needed to talk about the Lyons.”
That sick feeling grows. “We did.”
Her brows lift in question.
And I want to answer her unspoken query, want to explain the dangers, make sure she understands the stakes.
But to tell her all of that would require me to—
“Fine,” she snaps, marching across the tiny space and bustling between her stove and fridge.
Victory pulses through me and I do my best to not fuck up the small win, moving carefully after her and leaving plenty of distance between us.
She pulls out a container, slaps it on the counter. “I’ll feed you, but only if you tell me about the Lyons.”
The victory fades. The sick feeling grows.
Especially when she locks those blue eyes on mine.
Fuck they’re beautiful. She’s beautiful.
Even when she makes a prompting motion with her hand.
“There’s not much to tell,” I hedge.
A snort.
And she’s right to call me on my bullshit.
Because there’s so fucking much to tell.
Most people think the Lyons are organized crime.
They aren’t.
Or they aren’t just organized crime.
They’re a business. They’ve built infrastructure. They have influence. They have so much fucking power, it’s terrifying.
But above all else?
They demand loyalty.
How do I know this?
Because I was part of it.
Because I lived it…
Until I couldn’t take it anymore.
So, what do I tell her? What can I tell her?
Because the truth is simple—the farther River stays from my past, the safer she remains.
Or at least that’s what I’ve been trying to convince myself of.
“Thorn,” she says and I blink at the sudden thread of kindness in her voice. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
I exhale and shift closer, freezing the moment tension enters her body.
I pull out a chair, sink down into it. “There’s a lot to tell,” I admit.
“But also not. Pascal and Brooks are still working to track down specifics, same as I am, same as Jean-Michel and Jace and Marie are. But no matter how many businesses we all own, no matter how much money we have, how much power…” I sigh.
“No matter how hard Attie and her team at the FBI work, the Lyons keep managing to slip free.”
She’s watching me intently, concern rippling across her face. “Is Briar in danger?”
I hesitate, wondering whether to give her the truth or not.
But that hesitation costs me.
Because she reads it for what it is.
“She is,” River whispers. “Damn.”
“We’ve got her covered,” I hurry to say. “Pascal’s team is on it and you’re already aware of the extra security on the building. It’s not fun for her, but until things are locked down, she’ll stay put.”
“Poor Briar,” she murmurs, opening the container and dishing up two bowls of soup. She sets them in the microwave to heat then starts slicing some bread and lathering it with butter. “Thank you for telling me that.”
I nod.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asks. “I don’t have beer—”
That floats through my chest, wraps around my heart.
She knows I prefer beer to wine.
“—but I have a bottle of red from Oak Ridge or some lavender iced tea.” A hesitant shrug. “And water, of course.”
Sweet.
Even though I scare her, put her off, she’s still so damned sweet.
And the Lyons would love to exploit that soft spot. They wouldn’t see it like I do—like something wonderful, something to be protected.
They’d see it as pure weakness.
As leverage.
As something to be used up until there was nothing left of the River I know.
River who knows I like beer.
Who stress-bakes brownies.
And opened her heart to Briar in an instant.
And who lives in an apartment that’s small but is filled with so much more warmth than mine.
The thought of Lyon attention turning fully toward her makes something ugly shift beneath my ribs.
I can’t let that happen.
Which means I can’t let this happen.
I lean forward, intending to get to my feet, to get the hell out of here—
“Here,” River murmurs, setting the bowl in front of me. “Eat,” she adds, her voice gentle in a way that I’ve never had directed at me.
And it’s so damned beautiful, so fucking wonderful…I can’t make myself move.
Not when she puts a plate of bread between our bowls.
Not when she—rightfully guesses—and sets a glass of ice water beside it.
Not when she sits across from me and orders again, just as gently,
“Eat.”