CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

Having had a shit night’s sleep, Havana stepped out of her bedroom the next morning feeling like death warmed up. She trudged into the living room, and the sight she stumbled upon made her sigh. It no doubt wasn’t often that a person found a bearcat on the floor wrapped in a black mamba, especially when said bearcat was ramming the head of the hissing snake on the hardwood floor.

It wasn’t an uncommon sight for Havana, but it rarely happened during the morning for two reasons. One, Aspen didn’t usually come here so early. Two, Bailey was so focused on being ready on time that she didn’t let her mamba out. But as they were all off work today, they could afford to be lazy and fool around. This, though? No. It was too early for this shit.

Havana planted her hands on her hips. “Seriously?” she barked, making both animals freeze. “You know the rules, people—no brawling before I’ve had at least one cup of coffee. So do my addled brain a favor and release. Each other. Now.”

The animals parted, and then both females shifted.

Aspen threw Bailey a dirty look. “Your mamba is such a bitch. I’m surprised I don’t have any cracked ribs.”

Bailey sniffed, rubbing her head. “I’m equally surprised I don’t have a cracked skull. Your bearcat is so damn moody.”

“And yet, your snake constantly taunts her. Explain.”

“You want, like, a rational explanation?”

“That would be good. Am I going to get one?”

“Depends what your personal definition of ‘rational’ is.”

Aspen shook her head and pushed to her feet. “Forget it.”

Massaging her aching temple, Havana headed to the kitchen. There, she prepped the coffee machine before switching it on. Soon enough, she was sitting at the table with breakfast and a mug of steaming hot coffee.

Fully dressed, Aspen hummed to herself as she entered the room. Stumbling to a halt, she said, “Uh-oh.”

Bailey materialized behind her, also now dressed. Her eyes lit up when they locked on the table. “Ooh trifle—” She cut off, her face freezing. “You’re eating trifle for breakfast. That is never good.”

Aspen took the seat opposite Havana. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

Havana shoveled another spoon of the chocolate dessert into her mouth. “I took Bailey’s advice.”

Aspen scrunched her face up. “You … you took advice from Miss Logic is For Losers?”

Bailey frowned at the bearcat. “Not liking your tone.”

“But you can’t argue that your advice might not necessarily be good to heed, can you?” challenged Aspen.

Huffing, Bailey took a seat at the table. “Well, maybe not. But logic gets in the way sometimes. I don’t like obstacles.”

Aspen turned back to Havana. “What advice did she give you?”

Havana licked at her spoon. “To have one last round of sex with Tate so I could find some closure. I hoped it would work, so yesterday after dinner …”

“You did the dirty.” Aspen bit her lower lip. “I take it your hopes didn’t come to fruition.”

“No, they did not.”

“Well that’s a bummer.” Bailey puffed out a breath. “But this doesn’t sound like something that would send you into the trifle-for-breakfast-zone.”

Havana sighed. “Tate wants to drag out the fling a little longer. And while I can’t deny that he’s right in claiming neither of us are truly ready to part ways, I can’t give him what he wants. I just can’t. I’ll only get more and more attached. And, honestly, it hurts that the only thing he sees when he looks at me is someone worthy of a fling. If I keep sleeping with him, I’ll end up hating us both. But getting rid of him hasn’t been as simple as I thought.”

Aspen twisted her mouth. “There is one sure-fire way to make him leave you alone.”

Havana paused in bringing another spoonful of dessert to her mouth. “What?”

“Tell him the truth,” replied Aspen. “Tell him you want more. If he’s so against the concept, there’s no way he’ll stick around. In fact, he might even freak out.”

Bailey nodded and pointed a finger at the bearcat. “That would definitely work, because he won’t be able to argue that continuing with the fling would be harmless. He’ll have to either step up to the plate or back the hell off.”

“He’s not going to offer me more,” said Havana.

“Maybe not,” said Aspen, her tone soft. “And I know it’ll suck to hear him tell you he can’t give you what you need, but the present situation also sucks. If you really want him to leave you alone and give you the space to move on, this is probably the only way to do it.”

Bailey’s shoulders slumped. “You know, Vana, I really do hate that the two guys you grew to care for don’t want what you want.”

“Same here.” Havana sipped her coffee. “On the subject of said two guys, Dieter called yesterday. He heard about the attempted kidnapping. He insisted I call him if I have any further problems.”

Bailey snorted. “He can’t honestly think you’d turn to him for help after he chose another woman over you.”

“To be fair, he has no idea that it hurt me.”

Aspen rested her arms on the table. “I think Dieter cares about you in his way, Havana. But he doesn’t want the lone shifter lifestyle, and he’s had no luck getting a flock to accept him. He knows his best bet is to mate into one. I think Tate cares about you, too. I think he just isn’t prepared to face it yet.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Havana took another gulp of her drink. “And it’s possible that he’ll get back together with his ex.”

Bailey blinked and straightened in her seat. “His ex?”

“Yep, she’s back. Valentina—who says hi, by the way—told us a little about her yesterday. Her name’s Ashlynn, but I often refer to her as ‘the skank’ in my head. She and Tate tried to imprint on each other, but it all went south.” Havana relayed the story to the mamba.

Bailey folded her arms. “Do you think she’s back for Tate, hoping he’ll make her his Alpha female?”

“Maybe. She wanted to have dinner with him so they could ‘talk.’ He turned her down. He swears he has no interest in her.”

“Do you believe him?” asked Aspen.

Havana hesitated. “He was pretty convincing. If he was lying, he was also lying to himself.” She ate another spoonful of trifle.

Aspen drummed her fingers on the table. “So … are you going to tell him what you want?”

Havana’s stomach rolled at the idea, but she couldn’t deny that it made sense. Which was uber unfortunate. She put down her spoon. “Yeah. It’ll be hard, and it’ll be harder still to hear him tell me what I already know, which is that he can’t give it to me. But it’s probably the only guaranteed way to make him give me space. I can put my pride aside to get that.”

Bailey pouted. “I hate that you’re hurting.”

“Me, too,” said Aspen.

Havana saw something in their eyes that made her go still. “Don’t even think about it.”

Bailey rose to her feet. “It’s gonna happen.”

“I mean it, don’t.”

Aspen stood. “You’re gonna have to suck it up.”

“Do not hug—” Havana ground her teeth as both rounded the table and wrapped their arms around her. “You girls are such bitches.”

The bearcat smiled. “We love you, too.”

Bailey’s nose wrinkled. “We do?”

Aspen lightly slapped the mamba over the head, which only made Bailey snicker.

Just as the girls released her, Havana’s cell phone began to ring. She grabbed it from the table and sighed. Tate. “Speak of the devil …” She swiped her thumb over the screen and answered, “Hello.”

“Need you to meet me outside your building,” he said. “If you’re not dressed yet, do it fast.”

She froze at the urgency in his tone. “Why?”

“One of my contacts just called,” he said. “Someone tipped the guy off as to where Sinclair is. I’m guessing you’d like to come along while we nab him.”

Oh, she most certainly would. “I’ll be five minutes.” Ending the call, Havana told the girls, “Tate knows where Sinclair is. You guys coming?”

“Absofuckinglutely,” stated Aspen.

Bailey tipped her head toward the bearcat. “What she said.”

Havana stood. “Then grab your shit. Let’s go.”

Standing across the street from the single-story motel, Havana couldn’t help but think it was a sad sight to behold. Dirty windowpanes. Peeling paint. Blackened bricks. A flickering vacancy sign with burned-out letters.

Trash littered the sidewalk and parking lot. Weeds sprouted through the cracks in the pavement. The surrounding trees were leafless and decayed.

The windows looked old and cloudy, but they wouldn’t have provided a clear glimpse of Sinclair’s room anyway, since the guy had pulled the curtains shut.

She looked at Tate. “Told you the universe was trying to clue me into something with the constant motel signs, didn’t I?”

He frowned and went back to staring at the building.

People really needed to listen to her more often, in Havana’s opinion.

“What’s the plan?” Aspen asked no one in particular. “Are we knocking on the door or just barging in?”

“If we knock, we put him on alert,” said Tate. “If we barge in, we can take him off-guard.”

Alex rolled back his shoulders. “Then we barge in.” The wolverine wasn’t part of Tate’s ranks, but Alex acted as an interrogator when needed.

Havana couldn’t lie, she was disappointed that she wouldn’t get to do much interrogating of her own—in fact, so was her inner devil. But Havana’s main concern was getting some answers.

“Barging in works for me,” said Vinnie.

Tate gently squeezed her wrist and shot her a “be careful” look. He’d been watching her closely, as if sensing that something was wrong, but he hadn’t commented on it. “Let’s move,” he ordered.

Luke and Farrell flanked him as they all crossed to the motel. Even from outside the door to Sinclair’s room, Havana could hear the TV blaring.

Tate snapped out his leg and booted the door open. They charged inside the room, ready to attack and defend. Then they skidded to a halt, and Havana’s mouth dropped open. Jesus.

Sinclair was slouched in the bulky chair, his eyes wide and unseeing, his face and jaw slack … and a fucking bullet hole in his forehead.

“Hell,” said Vinnie.

Tate’s mouth went tight. “Someone else got to him first. Probably Gideon to cover his auction-related tracks.” He swore, his nostrils flaring.

Luke circled the deceased shifter. “Single shot to the head. He was bound tight to the chair but not tortured, so I’d say he answered their questions without putting up any kind of resistance.”

“He’s been dead a few hours at least,” said Alex.

Which was why it goddamn reeked in here. Both the coppery scent of blood and nauseating scent of death were heavy in the room, mingling with the cloying smells of urine, mold, and stale cigarette smoke. It made her devil’s nose wrinkle in distaste.

“Do a quick check of the room, Farrell; see if there’s anything interesting among his belongings,” said Tate.

“Sure thing.” Farrell then began rummaging through a small, wobbly dresser.

Tate checked Sinclair’s pockets. “No cell phone. Whoever shot him probably took it in case there was anything incriminating on it.”

“There’s one here.” Havana grabbed the phone beside the old TV and skimmed through the call log and messages. “There’s nothing on it. No texts, no saved contacts, no history in the call log. It’s gotta be a burner.”

Bailey glanced at the phone. “It looks brand new. There are no scratches or smudges on the screen.” She sighed. “On the plus side, you don’t have to worry that Sinclair’s going to attempt to finish the job he started and kidnap you.”

Yeah, there was that. Havana inhaled, sifting through the various smells, but she couldn’t pick up the scents of any people other than Sinclair and the shifters who’d accompanied her here. Any others seemed to have long since faded.

There might have been some trace of them if the other smells in the room hadn’t been so pungent. Still, she asked, “Can anyone scent other shifters?”

The others shook their heads or muttered a negative … aside from Alex.

“There’s the faintest trace of jaguar,” said the wolverine. “But it’s extremely faint.”

“Jaguar,” echoed Tate. “So Gideon sent his minions here.” Tate might have felt some pity for the bastard if he hadn’t been, well, a bastard.

Having done a search of the entire room, Farrell said, “He either had nothing incriminating in his possession, or it was taken from him.”

They all stilled as the burner phone in Havana’s hand began to ring.

Each and every cell in Tate’s body went on high alert, and his inner cat tensed. He crossed to her and said, “Let me answer it. If it’s someone hoping to speak with Sinclair, they might buy that I’m him. Everyone be very quiet.” He took the phone and answered using the speakerphone option, “Yeah?”

“Who might I be talking to?” a cultured male voice asked. One Tate didn’t recognize. He glanced at the others, noting that none of them appeared to recognize the voice.

“You’re the one that called me,” Tate pointed out.

“Yes, but I’m quite aware that my dear friend Sinclair is unable to answer. You must be one of the shifters who were seeking him. Excellent. I left a phone at the motel room hoping I could have a little talk with the people who are trying to push their way into my business. I was quite sure you’d come for Sinclair.”

Tate’s lips thinned as he quickly deduced, “You called in the tip. You led us to him.”

“It seemed the easiest way to communicate with you that didn’t involve a face-to-face meeting.”

Galled that he’d been so easily manipulated, Tate bit back a curse and gestured for Luke and Farrell to canvas the area. For the caller to know that people had entered the room, either he or one of his minions was nearby.

“Who are you?” Tate asked his caller while Luke and Farrell headed into the bathroom where they’d no doubt use the rear window as an exit.

“A lot of my friends call me Abe,” the unfamiliar voice replied.

“Abe,” Tate repeated. “I didn’t know that was a pet name for Gideon.” Silence greeted the comment. Yeah, this fucker was Gideon York. And if he or his minions were nearby, it was possible that they had a gun trained on the building. Tate signaled Vinnie, Alex, and the females to move into the bathroom.

“Hmm, just what did Rupert tell you?”

Tate waited for the others to quietly enter the small, dingy bathroom before he joined them and replied, “Enough to know who you are, York.”

“Gideon York is dead.”

“You don’t sound dead.”

Another long silence. “I don’t, do I?” Apparently, he was done with the pretense. “I feel it is important that we are all able to come to an understanding. I’ve come to learn a few things since Rupert and Sinclair failed me. It would seem that Miss Ramos is under the protection of Tate Devereaux, Alpha of the Olympus Pride.”

Tate’s grip on the phone involuntarily tightened. He met her gaze—a gaze that had held a hint of sadness ever since she exited her complex earlier, which he didn’t understand but fully intended to question her about later. “She is,” Tate replied.

“Would I be right in assuming that you are Tate?” asked Gideon.

“You would.”

“Excellent. I’ve never met a pallas cat, but I’ve heard plenty about your kind. I’ve also heard plenty about you—all good things, by the way. You might be feared, but you’re also highly respected.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yes, it is. I’d like to offer my apologies to you. If I had known Miss Ramos was under your protection, I would not have sent people to acquire her.”

Tate ground his teeth. “No, you’d have sent them to acquire another loner for you to auction off like they’re fucking collector’s items instead of living beings.”

“It is merely business.”

“It’s fucking sick.”

“There are plenty of people who would disagree with you. People will buy shifters for any number of reasons—to keep in their private zoos, to hunt and kill, to use for their personal pleasure, to run various experiments on.”

Standing in the doorway of the bathroom, Tate poked his head out to keep an eye trained on the front door. “And none of that bothers you?”

“As I said, it is merely business. What my clients wish to do with whatever assets they purchase doesn’t concern me.”

“Assets?” Tate felt his nostrils flare. “They’re people, not assets. I suppose you prey on loners because they’re mostly unprotected. Well, it was pretty careless of you to have assumed your latest target was unprotected. You knew Havana’s address, but you didn’t think to check who owned her building. You made a mistake there, and you made the kind of enemies you absolutely do not fucking want.” Pallas cats always made bad enemies, especially if you messed with someone who had value to them. And Havana, well, she meant something to both Tate and his cat.

“Yes, it was a mistake. One I have apologized for. I meant no insult to you. And if you and the other people who are hunting me agree to back off, I will not make any moves against you. Havana Ramos will be left alone, as will anyone else under your protection. Everyone can go back to their lives.”

“And if we don’t back off?” Because they absolutely wouldn’t.

“You will force me to take any measures necessary to stop you. I won’t make this offer again. If I were you, I would accept it. You have no way of locating me. You could try to trace this call, of course, but any time you spend investigating me will be wasted.”

“Yeah? Then why are you so worried that we’re working to locate you?” Tate challenged.

“I am not worried. I am merely … inconvenienced by how much lone shifters are now on their guard.”

Tate snickered. “I don’t believe you, York. I think you know it’s only a matter of time before we find you. And I think you know just how bad you’ll suffer once we do. We pallas cats like our vengeance. Your friend Rupert, yeah, he died hard. You’ll die harder.”

For a long moment, Gideon said nothing. “I take it we don’t have an agreement. That is a shame. Especially for Miss Ramos.” The line went dead.

“Well,” began Havana, “we know now that Gideon really is alive.”

“I don’t think he expected us to associate him with—” Tate swore as bullets peppered the front of the building. He moved fast, sliding fully into the bathroom for cover, as windows smashed and the wooden front door splintered. Then there was the screech of tires.

Tate cursed again and rushed out of the building just in time to see a dark blue car disappear around a curve in the road. Hearing footsteps, he turned just as Luke and Farrell came running into view. “You both okay?” he asked.

Luke gave a curt nod. “Don’t know where that car came from, but it wasn’t around when we checked this side of the motel before.”

“The driver must have parked somewhere close but out of sight,” said Farrell.

Tate glanced back at the others, checking they were all fine, relieved when he saw no one—especially his father and Havana—was injured.

“Did anyone get the license plate number of the car?” asked Alex.

Everyone shook their heads.

Tate hissed. “That motherfucker led us here so he could make us an offer and let us see what happened to people like Sinclair who landed on his shit list. My contact specified that the tip was anonymous. I didn’t wonder if it had been passed on by Gideon.”

“What did he say?” asked Luke. “I missed most of the conversation.”

“He pretty much confirmed that he’s Gideon York, and he told me that he’d leave us be if we all backed off. He didn’t like that I refused to fall in line.”

“Do you think he would have shot at us even if we agreed to his deal?” asked Bailey.

“No,” said Tate. “Killing a bunch of pallas cats wouldn’t have changed anything—our pride would have continued to hunt him, and they’d have hunted him harder to avenge us. That’s why he didn’t start shooting the second we arrived. He was hoping we’d take the deal and leave him be.”

“He was also probably hoping that shooting at the motel room would make us reconsider hunting him,” mused Vinnie. “Otherwise, he’d have waited for us all to step out of the building. He didn’t. He gave us one last warning so that we’d know he meant business.”

Aspen looked at Havana. “You need to be careful. There was a slight sneer in his voice every time he said your name. My opinion? He blames you for everything that’s gone wrong.”

“I’d say the same.” Bailey rubbed at one arm. “It was a good thing we hid in the bathroom, huh?”

“He probably figured we’d hide once we wondered just how he could know that anyone was in the motel room,” Vinnie theorized. “I doubt he thought the bullets would truly kill anyone.”

“People are peeking out the windows of the other rooms,” said Aspen. “Someone might call the police.”

Luke shook his head. “It’s a shifter-only motel. They won’t call the human authorities.”

Because shifter business was shifter business. They had their own rules as to how they dealt with things.

“I say it’s time we got out of here,” declared Bailey.

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Tate, tossing the burner phone into the trash. “But first, I want to question the shifters here and see if anyone noticed people entering or exiting this room at some point today.”

They learned that no one heard a gunshot, so the firearm used to kill Sinclair must have had a silencer attached. One person claimed to have seen four people approach the motel room, but he’d been too far away to view their faces. The witness hadn’t thought to pay them any attention, because he’d assumed they were staying in the room.

On their way back to the large SUV, Tate slid his hand up Havana’s back and cupped her nape. “Come back to my place.”

She looked at him, her expression guarded. “Why?”

“I want to be alone with you.”

She looked at the floor and then gave a slow nod. “Okay.”

He squeezed her nape. “Okay.”

Acomplete bag of nerves, Havana waited as Tate unlocked his front door. Her muscles felt all twitchy. There would be nothing smooth or easy about this conversation. Nothing simple or painless about putting herself out there when the only thing she’d get in return would be an “oh shit” look. But Aspen was right. Tate would back off if he knew that he’d otherwise mislead Havana into thinking he wanted a relationship. He was too good a guy to play with her like that.

Obviously intending to give them privacy, Luke and Farrell settled on the porch swing.

Tate opened his front door and gestured for her to enter first. She reluctantly stepped inside, feeling like she was walking to her doom, and allowed him to shepherd her into his living room. The space was both masculine and stylish—deep neutral tones, dark woods, tan leather, sturdy furniture, sleek and straight lines, simple detailing, no frills or accessories.

He came up behind her, slid his hands up her arms, and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “You’ve been very quiet. You okay?”

“No.” She stepped away from him and turned to face him. Tight as a drum, she bit her lip, dredging up the courage to confess the truth.

He ate up the space between them in one stride and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t let what that bastard said play on your mind. He’s not going to get to you.”

“It’s not about Gideon.”

“Then what is it? Tell me.”

She took a deep, preparatory breath. “You were right that I didn’t give you the full reason why I decided we need to go our separate ways.”

He cocked his head. “You gonna tell me the rest?”

“Yes. Just be warned that you’re not going to like what you hear.”

He backed her toward the sofa. “Then let’s get comfortable while we have this conversation.”

“That’s not—” She cut off as she plopped onto the sofa.

Tate sat beside her, twisted his body to fully face her, and splayed his hand on her thigh. “Right, go on.”

“First, I need to tell you about Dieter.”

A line briefly formed between his brows. “All right.”

“I’ve known him for a while. We never had a typical bed-buddy arrangement. We had a fling at first. Then he went traveling, so we ended it. He goes traveling a lot. And whenever he was both local and single, he’d turn up, looking to hook up. That went on for too long, but I let it, because I cared about him.”

Realizing he’d involuntarily clenched her thigh, Tate relaxed his grip. He didn’t want to know she’d cared about another man, and he wondered if it was truly a case of “past tense.” His cat slowly paced, wary of where the conversation was going.

“I thought he had to care about me if he kept coming back again and again,” she went on. “I thought maybe he just needed time before he was willing to offer me something more. But about six months ago, he gave that ‘more’ to someone else. I’m not mad at him for that. He didn’t purposely hurt me—he didn’t even know I cared about him. It still hurt, though. So when you proposed having a short, shallow fling where I wouldn’t have to give anything of myself, it suited me.”

“But you end your flings early now so that you don’t make the mistakes with others that you made with Dieter,” Tate assumed.

“How I wish that were the case. Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment or something, but I made the same fuck up with you.” A somewhat self-depreciating smile touched her mouth. “Yeah, I came to want more.”

Tate could only stare at her, at a loss for what to say. Even his cat stilled in surprise.

“I could see that you didn’t feel the same—one thing I can say for you, Tate, is that you never gave me mixed signals. I didn’t misread them. I just took a chance and gave you some time because I’m that stupid.” She swallowed. “I’m done being stupid.”

He closed his eyes. “Havana—”

“You were right when you said I wasn’t ready to walk away. I’m not. But I have to do it, Tate.”

Cursing beneath his breath, Tate jumped to his feet and scrubbed a hand down his face. The same feeling he’d gotten when she first ended their fling came rushing back—the sensation of her slipping through his fingers, of him losing something important. The cord of panic returned, too, and wrapped tight around his lungs once again.

More, the drive to brand her came back in full-force. He felt it everywhere. It was an itch, an ache, a throb, and a burn all at once.

“That’s why your devil is pissed at me,” he realized. “She wants more as well, and she’s mad that I haven’t offered it.”

Havana nodded and pushed to her feet. “I didn’t want to tell you the full truth for two reasons. One, I didn’t want to make you feel bad that I was hurting when it was absolutely not your fault. Two, I didn’t want to hear you say aloud what I already know—you’re not going to give me what I’m looking for. I didn’t think I’d have to tell you everything. I didn’t think you’d care when I ended it. I definitely didn’t think you’d insist on dragging the fling out even longer. I can’t do it, Tate. You understand, right? You get it?”

Yeah, he got it. But he didn’t want to get it. Didn’t want to admit she had every reason to walk away. “So, you want to end this because it’s too casual for you. Does that mean you’re looking to settle down with someone now?”

“No.”

“Then why end something that works so well when all you’ll do is walk right into another casual relationship?”

“I’m ending this because it’s the right thing to do. It hurts that I don’t mean anything to you—it shouldn’t hurt, and I don’t want it to hurt, but it does.”

“I told you last night; you mean something to me. I’m not in the habit of saying shit I don’t mean.”

“Maybe I do mean something to you. But if so, I don’t mean enough for it to make a difference to you.” Her eyes glistened with tears he knew she was too proud to shed in front of him. “I’d be cheapening myself if I accepted so much less from you than what I need. I won’t keep being your fuck-buddy, especially when I know you’ll walk away from me the second you find your true mate. I’m no masochist.”

He reached for her. “Havana …”

She shook her head, backing away. “Don’t.”

Undeterred, Tate pulled her close and held her tight, sliding his hand up her back. He pushed his face into her hair and breathed her in. She didn’t hug him back, but she also didn’t fight him. He curved his hand around her nape and spoke into her ear. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I have to,” she whispered, fisting the sides of his tee.

They stayed there like that for long minutes, saying nothing. Meanwhile, his cat raged and snarled and demanded that Tate subdue her, which pissed Tate off because they might not be in this fucking situation if the feline didn’t make it impossible for them to have a real relationship.

Havana released his tee. “I need to leave now.”

Tate dropped his forehead to hers. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t,” she said, her voice thick, as she gently pushed against his chest.

Tate tightened his hold. But only for a moment. Then he slowly lowered his arms. “I’ll walk you home. Don’t argue. I want to be sure you’re safe.”

She nodded.

His stomach heavy, Tate walked her to her complex while Luke and Farrell trailed behind them—silent sentries. Tate entered the security code into the keypad to unlock the front door. He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t even really get a proper handle on all that he was feeling.

She gave him a wobbly smile. “Take care of yourself, Tate.” She rushed inside and closed the door behind her.

Tate swallowed and, ignoring the ache in his chest and the tantrum his cat was throwing, he turned to his brother and Head Enforcer. Ignoring Luke’s “you just made a big mistake” look, he said, “Assign two enforcers to watch her. I want eyes on her at all times.”

“It’ll be done,” Luke assured him.

Tate nodded. He couldn’t have her, but he could at least keep her safe. As much as he hated it, his protection was all he had to give her.