Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LANDON

W hen I return to the office, Ethan is sitting in my desk chair, holding my Sig P365. He's unloaded it, the magazine on the table and the chamber open. "What the fuck is this?" he grunts.

"What does it look like?" I snap. "Put it away."

"Why have you got a gun in the office, Landon?" Ethan asks sternly. For all his flashiness, he's a stickler regarding the rules. "What if we'd had a client in, and they'd gone into your desk looking for a pen or something?"

"Then I'd tell them to mind their own goddamn business."

"Listen, I know you've had a scare, but going off the rails won't help."

"I'm not off any rails. The bar I'm looking into has links to the mob and the cartel. Would you rather I didn't protect myself?"

"You shouldn't need to protect yourself," Ethan grunts, putting the gun down. "This crap with the bar and the mob and the cartel … It's none of your business. Nothing good can come of it, especially if it means bringing weapons into the office. You need to focus on your health."

"I thought I needed to focus on helping people end their marriages?"

"We trained for this. We re trained for this. We specialized. We've worked damn hard. I won't sit here and listen to you put down our—" He stops when the buzzer cuts through the office. "Oh, shit." He stands suddenly all business again. "That's Rosita Rubberton."

"Rubberton?"

He glares. "Don't you read emails? She's an heiress from England. She's divorcing her boy-toy husband and determined not to give him a dime, but she'll give us plenty. Oh, and she has a crush on you."

I shift uncomfortably. I can still feel Lily's heat, still sense her closeness. When she bit her lip, I wanted to grab her so badly, lean in, and press my lips against hers. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"She mentioned it when booking the meeting. This is all in the email. She's seen a few of your Good Samaritan articles from back in the day."

"I hate those things. They always made the work feel cheap."

"Well, it's helped us, so don't hate too hard." He puts the gun back in the desk drawer, giving me a severe look. "It would help if you flirted with her a little."

"You're joking."

"You've flirted with clients in the past," he points out, walking toward the door.

He's right, in a sense. I've put up a front when necessary, using the logical approach of doing what's best for the business. Yet it never felt like flirting then because there was nothing behind it, no nugget of truth. This is different. If I flirt with this woman, I'll feel like I'm betraying Lily.

Christ. What the fuck am I thinking? What does that even mean, betray her?

Ethan leaves the room, walking down the stairs to let the client in. He's already removed my photo of Damon from the wall. Ethan's a chill, nonconfrontational person, so this is a big step for him to take, a definite line in the sand.

"Oh, sweetie, thank you ever so much," the heiress says as Ethan holds the door open for her. "Oh, and this is the famous Landon Cross."

She's around my age, which should make her seem more appropriate for me, but I instantly dislike something about her. I think it's the thin smirk as if I'm here as a gift for her or a piece of personal entertainment.

Technically, I suppose she's not an unattractive woman. She wears a designer dress and looks like she goes to the gym, but she does nothing for me. I note these details with the cold, clinical nature a particular doctor might have while telling a man he has months, not years, to live.

"Landon …" Ethan walks up next to her, laughing awkwardly. "Are you suddenly mute, bro?"

" Bro ," Rosita says in delight, looking around at our East Coast decor, modern office. At least, that's what Ethan calls it. "This place is so quaint ."

Ethan smiles, then gives me a look. It's mostly the seriousness on his face that makes me snap out of whatever mood I've fallen into. Ethan's a good person, my best friend. He's been there for me every single time I've ever needed him. He was there at the most crucial time; he saved my life.

I won't flirt , but standing here like a jackass isn't helping anyone.

"Rosita," I say with a forced smile, hoping she can't tell it's forced, "it's so nice to meet you."

The day goes slowly, with countless meetings. I do my best to play the game with Ethan, but two things are constantly on my mind. The first is Lily and the car ride this morning: her blush, her heat, biting her lip like her sole goal is to drive me nuts.

The second is the bar—Damon, the bastard who threatened an innocent woman just trying to do the right thing. She's been through enough without dealing with that crap.

As soon as I can leave, I get in my car and drive across the city. I take my gun with me this time, which is a considerable risk. I check my phone more often than I should, thinking of Lily and inventing scenarios where she texts me. What do I think she's randomly going to say, exactly?

Hey Landon. I was biting my lip earlier because I was thinking about sliding to my knees and kissing the head of your manhood, then opening my mouth and sucking as much of you as I can take. I was biting my lip because I wanted to feel how hard you get when you thrust between my legs and …

I snap myself out of it. Work needs to be done, and I need to focus.

This time, The Bear is open, with music blasting. I stare at the door as a heavyset man in a leather jacket falls out, stumbling onto the street, snorting, and then spitting on the ground. There's no reason for a place like this to be so close to where families live, sleep, and try to study.

Usually, logic would keep me in the car, but there's nothing logical about what that prick Damon did to Lily. There's nothing logical about the fear and the pain it instilled in her. It's just wrong—evil. Nobody gets to talk to her like that.

Since I might be dead soon anyway, what harm is there? I push open the car door and hurry across the street, throwing the bar door open. It slams into the wall loud enough for a few people to hear it over the music.

The bar is small and musty, with a low ceiling that almost makes me duck my head. A table in the corner has a bright light shining over a poker game. Two other tables have three or four people sitting at them, all with a bottle of whiskey. Rock music blares from the jukebox.

I see them all staring at me, and I'm sure I'd usually feel fear. These are rough men, clearly capable of violence, thick and stinking of nicotine, and looking at me with that calm, dead expression I remember from the apple tree case. I haven't thought about that in years, but it's the closest I've experienced.

They hate me, and they'd hurt me if they had the chance.

I walk over to the bar and lean against it, nodding to the bartender. The man is old with wispy white-red patches of hair on the sides of his head. "A dr-drink?" he says.

"Is there an issue?"

The man visibly trembles, lowering his voice. "You shouldn't be here. The Bear is mainly for regulars."

"Maybe I'm interested in becoming a regular," I say, letting my voice get a little too loud. "Get me a beer."

"Please, it's on me."

I turn at the sound of his voice, knowing who it will be immediately. He's got the sleazeball tone of voice I knew he'd have and the confidence that he can bully and blackmail and break anybody he wants. Damon smirks and walks to the bar, resting his elbow against it.

"How are you doing, Landon?"

"Fine, Damon," I say, staring him right in the eye.

He laughs, shaking his head. "You don't look fine. You look like a man getting silly ideas in his head."

"I've just heard the ambiance in here is relaxing. Already, I can see the rumors were true."

"Ha ha ha," he mocks. "You're one funny bastard, aren't you? Listen, fella, this is not a good thing for you to do. What if some of my less courteous friends happened to be here? You need to finish your drink, then get on your way."

When the barman places my drink down, I ignore it. Instead, I make a show of looking around the bar. I feel ice cold . I'm fueled by what this asshole did to Lily. He had no right to scare her like that. Nobody does.

"Where's the playroom, then?" I say. "In the back? I've heard there are snacks and video games."

"Those are vicious lies told by petty people who want to tear The Bear down," Damon says.

"Why the fuck would multiple parents lie about this?"

"Ah, which ones?" he says with a gleam in his eye.

There it is, that self-assured suggestion of violence. Everyone in the bar is turning and staring at us. The music still plays, pumping, so I'm unsure if they can hear us. Yet, they must be able to read my body language. " Which ones" clearly indicates he'd hurt them if he had the chance.

"Now, why would you ask a question like that?" I say playfully.

He keeps smirking with that same gleam in his eye. He's undeniably a man who's gotten away with a lot and is used to walking all over people. It seeps out of his pores, this unearned confidence, this disgusting self-belief. It makes me feel like I did at the apple tree—that feeling again. It's the only time I've felt it. He's making me want to snap.

"Anyway," Damon says, "maybe I've decided you don't need that drink anymore."

"Maybe I still want to see the game room."

"I've already told the whore," he snaps, taking a step closer, his hand twitching. I know he's got a weapon hidden in those jeans or maybe in the fold of his jacket. "Don't make me tell you, too. Go back to your life. Your Good Samaritan days are over." He grins, leaning in. "Do you seriously think I wouldn't look into you? You stopped giving a fuck a long time ago. Unless it's about the girl …"

He leans even closer, which is a mistake. There should be fear coursing through me, logic telling me to get away from these people. But all I want to do is split his head open for thinking he can hurt innocent people and get away with it.

"Just leave the kids alone," I growl.

"I've seen the photo of you and Lily Brooks." The way he says her full name, savoring it and using it as a threat, makes me sick. He rolls the r in Brooks as though to make a point, to rub it in—the asshole. "When she was a kid, I mean. It's some puff piece, and all for what? For your ego? Now you and she are what, partners-in-crime?"

He smirks, leaning even closer. My hands are shaking. In the periphery of my vision, I notice people from the other tables watching, getting ready to react.

"Or is there something else going on, something more … immoral? It would make sense, considering your job and the general lack of values."

"You keep her fucking name out of your mouth," I say, stepping even closer, emphasizing the difference in our height. Not that it means much when he's got at least a dozen of his buddies in here.

"You seem to have very strong opinions about that," he says gleefully. "Just remember, I can visit her any damn time I want."

"If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll put you in the fucking ground."

His eyes pop open almost in a comic-book way. He looks absurd, almost. It's clear nobody ever speaks to him like that. "Watch your fucking mouth."

"You might think you know everything about me," I growl, "but you haven't done enough research. Leave. Her. Alone."

I push past him, my shoulder barging into him. He feels weak and light as he falls to the side, but he feels the need to play the tough guy. "Maybe I'll pay my not-so-little lady a visit tonight!" He shouts this loudly enough for some of his men to hear, and they laugh like hyenas.

I spin on the spot, staring at him, my hand twitching, ready. He cocks his head and brings his hand to his hip. "Are you really that fucking stupid?" he yells. "Get back to your office, lawyer man."

More laughter, even if that is the shittiest insult I've ever heard. I'm ready to shoot him for what he did to Lily and his comments about her. Then his men stand up from the tables, some of them producing guns in such a casual way. I know this is business as usual for them. As they aim at me, they look almost bored, dead behind the eyes.

With no other choice, I leave the bar, waiting for the wave of fear, but it doesn't come. I feel the most alert I have in years, the most carefree, almost. It's like a weight has been lifted. After all this time, I've finally done something good again, but the feeling doesn't last long.

When I return to my car, I replay what that bastard said about visiting Lily. What if he wasn't bluffing? What if he hurts her tonight as retaliation? My reaction probably told him all he needed to know about how I feel for her, not that I even know exactly how I feel. There's just something, which is more than I can usually say.

But what if I can't keep her safe?