Chapter Six
Kellan
Fuck.
“Do you have any idea where she is?” I growl, my fists pressing hard into the polished surface of my desk. Behind me, the entire Manhattan skyline stretches across the floor-to-ceiling windows of my corner office.
My business partners and lifelong friends, Nolan Williams and Oren Flynn, are also in my office, equally furious that Clover McAllister, the bane of our existence, disobeyed her brother’s direct order to remain in her house until protection arrived.
Jesus, that woman is going to be the ultimate death of us.
Her brother Troy McAllister, Nolan, Oren, and I grew up together.
We met at boarding school and quickly formed a tight bond.
We’re in our thirties now, and while Nolan, Oren, and I took over our family business after our time in the military, Troy remained and joined a covert team of operators. Our bond, however, still remains.
Troy had briefed us about a crime boss he’d taken out. Somehow, information had leaked to the son, and he’d vowed to exact revenge against Troy’s sister now that he knew her whereabouts.
I ignore the fire that burns beneath my skin at the thought of anyone touching her.
Nolan and Oren, I know, feel the same, also suppressing their utter rage at the thought of anyone touching her.
She’s Troy’s baby sister. That is all she is to us.
Nothing more. We live by a code: We don’t fuck each other’s sisters; they’re family.
It doesn’t matter that mine, Nolan’s, and Oren’s sisters are already married.
The code still stands. But fuck, why did she, of all women, have to be Troy’s sister?
As if her image isn’t already etched in my brain, her dark brown eyes, long golden hair, and perfect lips flash before my eyes.
And immediately thereafter, her fucking ass, streaked red after the three of us marked her naked skin with our hands.
So fucking hard she won’t be able to sit for a month, her ass aching in memory of our brand of punishment.
Let’s see her try to put her life in danger then.
Because, of course, she disobeyed a direct order from her brother to stay fucking home.
“She turned off her location tracker,” Troy says through the speakerphone on my desk.
“Fuck. I told her to stay in the house,” Troy repeats, his voice filled with worry. “And I can’t get out of Tokyo right now, not without my cover being blown and my head shot off my shoulders. My men were on their way to her. She would have been safer there.”
That’s not fucking true. She’s only safe with us. That is a collective thought that plagues us day in and day out.
“I don’t know where she is, man. She could be anywhere. And by the time my men locate her—“
“We’ll find her,” I say, and Nolan and Oren are already on it.
Our resources outweigh Troy’s by a mile. Our leverage is something only money can buy, and Clover is fucking precious cargo.
“Thank you,” Troy says, relief flooding his voice. He’s right to feel relieved; his sister is our problem now. Nothing will ever happen to her, not on our watch.
“Just keep her safe until I can sort this out.”
By the time I disconnect the call, we already know where the slip of trouble is.
“The Hook Up Resort?” I ask, a frown creasing my brow.
“It’s a singles’ resort island club known for hookups. Fuck,” Oren says, his jaw clenching as hard as Nolan’s and mine.
What the fuck is she doing in a place like that? Does she think she can fuck other guys? Hell no. She’s Troy’s baby sister. She’s supposed to remain a virgin until the day she dies. She might as well become a nun.
How the fuck did she disappear so quickly? We aren’t above keeping her under our personal surveillance, and we check in from time to time.
She had ten days off from her rotations.
No plans to go anywhere. She isn’t seeing anyone.
We would probably break his neck quietly and pretend we know nothing about it.
She doesn’t have a big circle of friends she hangs out with, except her best friend, Alessia Hagen, who isn’t who she claims to be.
We get full reports on every single person in her life.
By all accounts, she was supposed to go home after her last rotation and stay home for the full ten days. Except for the little detour she made. To our apartment, no less. Does she understand how we devoured the lingering scent of her perfume when we went home?
We were going to see what she was up to, but damn. We went into one long, hostile takeover meeting, and she disappeared with our fucking boxers. What is she up to?
Does she also understand how fucking hard it is to stay away from her? Because the instant we’re within arm’s length of her again, she becomes ours.
Ever since that night at the masquerade ball, when we found her sitting there in nothing but a red bra and panties—an image that has haunted us to this day—we knew the next time, we wouldn’t send her away. And the code... Fuck.
“She’s going to get an extra ten strikes when we get our hands on her,” Oren says as we’re already on our way to our helicopter pad at the top of our building, carrying the overnight duffel bags our PA, Samantha Simone, shoved into our hands “just in case.”
Clover had us fucked from day one, from that night in the hotel room when she offered us her body. But that wasn’t enough. We wanted everything.
The island is so far away it feels like we crossed half the damn planet. It’s a wonder we haven’t lost our minds getting there. We couldn’t help thinking the fucking worst too.
Would we have to tear apart the entire resort until I found her?
How long was that going to take? Nolan kept himself busy calculating exit routes and security weak points, while Oren needed desperately to pace, and being confined in a helicopter wasn’t working out for him.
We’d already gotten our inland contact to set up radar around the island, making it the most protected island of all.
By the time we finally step off the helicopter pad and onto the soft white sand, my blood is already boiling with protective fury.
It doesn’t take us long to find her. Not when we’re in apex predator mode. Not when we have a vested interest in the detail.
She’s standing near the open-air beach bar, the warm glow of the string lights catching in her hair.
She’s laughing — actually laughing—at something some tall, tanned bastard in a linen shirt is saying.
He’s leaning in way too close, drink in hand, looking far too comfortable talking to the woman who belongs to us.
My jaw tightens so hard it aches. Beside me, I feel Nolan go completely still, that sharp thinker’s brain of his already dissecting the scene. Oren lets out a low, dangerous sound under his breath.
We’ve been caged animals worried about her, and she’s having the fucking time of her life in a sundress that hugs every curve of her body and shows off the dewy skin of her shoulders. But then the bastard puts his on her waist.
The three of us exchange one glance. No words needed.