Not even Brooklyn McKenna, who has made me feel things I never thought were possible. The one I’m standing here worried about. Worried how she is receiving the letter (threat) and wanting to go to her. To protect her from the pain I know she has to feel.
To protectme.
I hate how hurt she’ll be. How scared, despite how strong she is. I want to cup her face and tell her I’ll protect her even from me. Yet I can’t do that.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance at Mama, assuring myself that she’s okay once more, then walk out of the room to answer the call quietly.
“Done?”
“Yes,” Brian, my lawyer, says. “She replied immediately with, and I quote,fuck you.”
I smile.
But it’s surface level, and inside I don’t feel an ounce of happiness. I wanted her in my bed tonight. In my arms, where I knew she would be safe. Cared for and mine to pleasure.
Instead, I’m now her enemy, and she’s in pain.
The thing is, I’m not the only threat to her, and I don’t like that she’s out there in the world without me.
Well, the Barrett Security team is still guarding her. I immediately asked them to head over to her apartment when she left in the Uber.
My phone buzzes again. “Brian, I’ve got to go. Thanks for that. Keep me in the loop if anything else happens.”
“Will do.”
I answer the incoming call. “Warner.”
“Mr. Warner. It’s Decker.”
“Hey.” My head starts shaking. I know what he’s going to say, so just listen.
“I’ve been given three minutes to leave the building, or Ms. McKenna is calling the police. How do you want to play this?”
“Jesus. Okay, can you stay out in the car or nearby?”
“She thought of that and said she’d tell them I was a stalker or advise I’d been loitering,” he says. “Smart lady you have.”
I begin to sayshe’s not mine,but the words don’t come out.
For one simple reason.
Brooklyn McKennaismine.
––––––––
WHEN I GET down to the car and look at the time, I see it's almost midnight. Jesus I’m tired. After the long flight home from Switzerland and all the events tonight, I just want to get to bed.
So why is it that when I cross the bridge into Manhattan, I head toward Brooklyn’s apartment building instead of going to my penthouse?
I park outside and glance up at the window that I’m almost certain is hers.
“God fucking damn all this.” I rest my arm on the steering wheel and stare out at the traffic.
My eyes land on my phone.
Strength in silence: revenge is a patient man’s game. We act in the shadows and never reveal our hand too soon.
Our code. If one of the boys rang me, I’d answer. We all would. I swipe, find the number and push send.
