Chapter 21 – Morgan #2
"She said no," Hector said conversationally, not even breathing hard. "Multiple times, from what I heard. Consent isn't a particularly complicated concept, even for someone with your obviously limited intellectual capacity."
Sam made choking noises, his hands clawing uselessly at Hector's boot. His face was turning an alarming shade of purple.
"Now, here's what's going to happen," Hector continued, applying just enough pressure to make his point without actually crushing Sam's windpipe.
"You're going to stay on this floor until we leave.
You're going to delete Morgan's number from your phone.
You're going to forget she exists. And you're never, ever going to contact her again. "
He leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper I could barely hear from across the room.
"Because if you do, someone worse will come back to finish this conversation. And unlike me, he doesn't have Morgan here to keep him civilized."
Sam's eyes went wide with terror as the implications sank in. Whatever he saw in Hector's face, it was enough to drain all the fight out of him.
Hector straightened, removing his boot with deliberate slowness. "Do we understand each other?"
Sam nodded frantically, gasping for air and scrambling backward across his hardwood floor.
"Excellent." Hector turned to me with that charming DuLac smile that somehow transformed his entire face, making him look like a completely different person. Like someone who might actually be safe to be around. "Shall we?"
I didn't need to be asked twice. But I did want to know why him. “Lance,” I asked with a whisper.
“I was closer. I’m pretty sure he’s right behind me.”
“How did you know?" I asked as we walked down the narrow staircase, my legs shaking with leftover adrenaline.
"‘We have been monitoring your communications since the ring discovery the other day," Hector said matter-of-factly, like electronic surveillance was just another Tuesday activity.
"When Sam texted, I was sent to babysit while Lance finished up with Gwen.
" He slid his gaze to the side. “And…uhm your phone has been modified so we can hear you and your surroundings.”
Lance had been monitoring my communications? “What the fuck?”
Hector held up his hand. “It was only in the case of emergency. Take it up with your husband.”
I should have been furious about that. Should have been outraged by the invasion of privacy. Instead, I felt nothing but relief.
"I should be angry about that."
"But you're not." It wasn't a question.
No. I'm not.
"Where is he now?"
Hector checked his watch with the casual air of someone discussing dinner plans. "Probably on his way here to deal with Sam. I just happened to be closer."
My blood ran cold. "What? He’ll be seen."
“Please give the man some credit. There was a time when he was better than I was. If he doesn’t want to be seen, he won’t be seen.”
"We have to stop him."
"Morgan—"
"No." I grabbed Hector's arm, feeling the solid muscle beneath his expensive jacket. "Sam's an entitled asshole, but you can’t let Lance kill him. He’s worked too hard not to be that person anymore."
Hector studied my face for a long moment, those pale eyes weighing options I couldn't begin to guess at.
"You might be right," he said finally. "But we'll have to move fast."
Alex met us outside of the building entrance just as Lance's motorcycle roared up to the curb like something out of an action movie.
Lance was off the bike before it had fully stopped, moving with the kind of predatory grace that meant someone was about to have a very bad night. He kept his helmet on, but his body…the coiled tension held the promise of violence.
The weapon.
This wasn't the man who made me breakfast and helped me with beadwork and held me while I cried about my father's betrayal. This was something much more dangerous. This was what Charles DuLac had tried to create. A perfect instrument of death wrapped in expensive clothes and devastating charm.
"Lance," I called out, but he didn't even glance in my direction. His focus was entirely on the building behind me, on the man cowering upstairs.
Hector stepped into his path. "Brother."
That got his attention. Lance's head snapped up. "Where is he?" Lance's voice was barely human. Flat and cold and promising terrible things.
"Handled," Hector said simply, spreading his hands in a gesture of calm. "Morgan's safe."
"That's not enough."
Of course it isn't.
"Lance, look at me." I moved into his line of sight. Okay, fine, maybe he had to fully look down a foot. "I'm fine. Hector got there in time. Alex was right there. I’m fine."
"He put his hands on you." Each word was delivered with surgical precision, like he was dissecting the offense piece by piece. "He tried to force you to stay."
He’d heard everything.
"And I throat-punched him. And then your brother put him on the ground and made it very clear what would happen if he ever contacted me again.
" I stepped closer, close enough to touch him if I wanted to, close enough to see the violence simmering just beneath his carefully controlled surface. "It's handled."
"He's still breathing."
Jesus Christ.
The casual way he said it, like Sam's continued existence was a problem that needed solving, sent a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the cool night air.
"Lance." I reached up to put a hand on his chest, forcing him to look at me instead of the building behind us where Sam was probably still cowering on his apartment floor. "I need you to come back to me."
Something loosened in his stance just a little.
"I heard him," Lance said quietly, his voice rough with barely contained fury. “He deserves to be put down like the dog he is.”
"I handled it. With the training you gave me." I brushed my thumb across his cheekbone, feeling the tension in his jaw. "I don't need you to avenge my honor."
I could see the set of his shoulders relax marginally.
"Besides," I added, standing on my tiptoes to bring my face closer to his, "killing him would just create problems we don't need. We have a plan. This isn’t part of it. And where you go, I go. Can you really picture me moving a body?"
That got through. Some of the predatory tension left his posture. "He's not worth it," I said firmly, meaning every word. "But I am. We are."
Lance was quiet for a long moment, his breathing slowly returning to something resembling normal.
"You're sure you're okay?" he asked finally, his hands coming up to frame my face with a gentleness that was at complete odds with the violence that had been radiating from him moments before.
"I'm sure." I leaned into his touch, feeling safe for the first time since I'd walked into Sam's apartment. "Take me home and show me exactly how much you wanted to murder him for touching me."
The look he gave me was all heat and possession and barely leashed hunger.
"Let's go," Hector said, glancing up at Sam's building with an expression of mild distaste. "Before our friend upstairs gets any stupid ideas about calling the police. Alex, meet us back at the penthouse. I think Morgan wants to ride with Lance."
As we walked toward Lance's bike, I caught Hector's eye and mouthed "thank you."
He shrugged, that casual arrogance that suggested saving people from entitled assholes was just another Tuesday activity. "Family looks out for family."