Chapter 8
Eight
Thorn
I wait until dawn to slip out of River’s apartment, but I don’t head for my car.
Instead, I linger in the hall until I hear her alarm go off inside.
For one, I was only able lock the doorknob.
For another, I’m not ready to leave yet.
Once I hear movement, I walk to my car, pulling out my phone when it buzzes. I see that the pet sitter I now employ has sent me a picture of Violet, along with a text telling me she’s had breakfast.
Good.
Violet’s taken care of.
Now for River.
As I wait for her to emerge from her apartment, I make a call to Pascal. “We need to talk about River,” I say quietly.
He pauses. “What about her?”
“She’s uses a fucking chair under her doorknob to secure her door.”
“Her lock’s broken?” he asks, his voice filled with deadly concern.
“No,” I mutter. “She uses those too.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then he curses quietly. “I can’t get anyone over there until tomorrow.”
“Fine,” I bite out. “But can you send someone to keep watch?”
“I’m beyond stretched thin with this shit with the Lyons. Everyone extra I have has already been called in.”
Fuck.
“Do you have any concerns about direct threats?” he asks.
I grind my teeth together. “Aside from the fact that the Lyons are fucking psychopaths and she has a connection to Brooks?”
And me, I want to say.
But I don’t.
He seems to hear it all the same. “Get her to Brooks’s place. It’s locked down. Maybe see if Briar and her will hang out overnight. Some of this shit should clear up after the op tonight and I’ll get the team to upgrade her place as soon as possible.”
“And you’ll station someone here too?”
He agrees and we work out a few more details, including how many cameras and where to place them, along with getting her a new door with reinforced hinges.
“Glad to see you’re finally getting your head out of your ass about River.”
I want to tell him to leave it the fuck alone.
But I don’t.
Mostly because River is walking down the flight of stairs, a carafe of coffee in one hand, a paperback tucked beneath her arm.
Fantasy. No. Fantasy romance. Given her past, I wouldn’t have expected that.
But as we sat on opposite sides of her couch after dinner and she put on a movie, I started to understand.
The fantasy is safe.
It’s the real world that’s scary.
In the present, she walks along the path, hurrying to her car, checking over her shoulder twice before unlocking the driver’s side door.
I want to help her break those habits.
To make her world safe so she doesn’t need them. Not ever again.
Dangerous thoughts.
Very dangerous thoughts.
Especially when—
“She deserves something better than me,” I say, almost forgetting I haven’t hung up the phone.
Pascal sighs into my ear. “You haven’t been that man for a long time, you know that, right?”
Except the man I was still exists. In me. No matter how deeply I bury it.
“Just sort out her security, yeah?” I mutter.
A long pause during which River turns on her car, backs out of the spot, and drives away.
“I’ll get it sorted,” Pascal says resignedly.
“Thanks,” I bite out and hang up. Then I turn on my own car and follow her out onto the road, follow her to the entrance from the freeway, then follow her all the way to Brooks’s apartment.
It’s overkill likely, but only when she turns into the parking garage beneath his building do I head over to my place.
Years of being taught to be hyper-vigilant.
To grasp at any measure of control.
Clinging to the desperate illusion that if I watch enough angles and calculate enough outcomes, no one I care about will ever get hurt again.
The Lyon world trained that into me young.
Protect mine first.
Emotions can come later.
Otherwise weak spots are exploited and pain is dished out and violence is the only currency that they understand.
My phone buzzes, reminding me of a meeting.
Sighing, I tuck it away, hurry through taking a shower and getting dressed.
“Meow!” Violet protests when I head for the door.
Warmth spreads through my chest…quickly chased by guilt. “Sorry, cat,” I mutter, picking her up before she can claw the shit out of me. “I might not be home tonight either.”
If Briar can’t convince River to stay, I know exactly where I’ll be.
In that small but cozy apartment.
Hopefully eating some delicious food.
And then sitting on that couch, maybe inching closer to River instead of being pushed up against the opposite end, trying not to frighten her.
Maybe she’ll even let me pick the movie this time.
“Meow,” Violet says—or vocalizes—or whatever.
My phone buzzes again.
This time not to remind me of a meeting, but to warn me of another fucking cyber-attack.
“Christ,” I grit out, shoving it back into my pocket and scratching Violet beneath her chin before setting her on her feet and heading for the door.
I’ll take that meeting. I’ll do the work I need to.
Then every spare moment, every spare employee at my company is going to be used to figure out a way to end the Lyons.
Because this shit—the terror they cause, the pain, the suffering and rage, their power—has to be finished.
And it can’t end with River caught in the crosshairs.
I’m going to make certain of it.