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Rico remains situated in the doorway, his fingers anxiously drumming against the frame. Fuck, is he nervous?
“Rico,” I prompt, my patience wearing thin. “Spit it out. I got shit to do.”
Yeah, like check my phone for the five hundredth time since I received confirmation that Daph’s flowers were delivered today. She must still be pissed if she’s not even gonna say “thank you.”
Rico’s head swivels a few more times, alternating between me and whatever’s distracting him in the hallway. With a steadying breath, he enters my office, bypassing the chairs to stand in front of my desk.
“I’m gonna need your gun, Nick.”
My body tenses. “Rico,” I warn. “For a guy who wants me to stay calm, you’re going about it the complete wrong way.”
“Do you trust me?”
I shoot forward, my elbows coming to lean atop my workspace as I point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t pull that manipulative shit with me right now.”
“I’m not manipulating you.”
“You are! You know whatever you’re about to tell me is gonna piss me off, and you’re exploiting your emotional connection with me as a way to control my response. This is no different than the shit you pulled when we were kids.” I slap my hand against the wooden surface. “I’m not twelve anymore, Rico. It’s not warranted.”
“Stop acting like I have ever done anything in our almost twenty years of friendship other than ensure your best interests.” Planting his palms onto my desk, he leans forward to bring his eyes level with mine. “There is nothing I wouldn’t protect you from. That includes yourself.”
“If you do not explain to me what’s going on, the only thing that’s going to need protection in a minute is you.”
“Gun first,” he repeats, calmly extending his hand into the space between us.
We stare at one another in silence, each of us refusing to submit. Our muted battle wages on for the better part of a minute, until the steady ticking of the antique clock on my shelf becomes almost deafening amidst the dead air around us.
At last, I relent. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “Fine. Here.”
Reaching down to the left, my grip tugs at the middle drawer of my desk. Thrusting my hand inside, I withdraw my weapon, which I then shove into his waiting palm.
Lifting the back of his shirt, Rico tucks the gun into his waistband before scrubbing a hand over his face. “Meu Deus. Dá-me forças.” With a steadying breath, Rico returns to the door. Bracing one hand against the frame, he leans out to signal someone in the hall with the other.
I stand in anticipation, stepping out from behind my desk ready to intercept whatever fucknut is going to need my foot in his ass. However, the last thing I’m expecting to see when the individual in question rounds the corner… is her.
She slips in beside Rico, her already slender stature practically curled in on itself, making her appear almost nonexistent in the space. Daph may only be 5’5”, but her personality commands a room. The girl in front of me? I barely recognize her. The sight has my steps faltering, my feet rooting to the floor as my whole world comes to a standstill.
I stand unblinking, my eyes zeroed in on the stark contrast between her typically fair skin and the various shades of purple currently marring the right side of her face. The swelling, while not excessive, is clearly noticeable. Both eyes are puffy, yet the upper and lower lids of the right side seem slightly worse for the wear. A small split cracks the plush pouty cushion of her lower lip, its presence made all the more evident by the subtle tremble she’s fighting so hard to control.
“I…” she speaks, her eyes drawn downward to the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be home when he got back, and I didn’t know where else to go.”
“He’s dead,” I breathe, my words only a fraction louder than a whisper.
Daph’s head snaps up, mouth agape.
“Nick,” Rico warns, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes.
“DEAD!” I roar, the sudden shattering of my calm façade causing Daph to jump. “I want that motherfucker chained to the floor in Killington in an hour.”
Rico grimaces, his expression apologetic. “You know we can’t do that.”
I spin, snatching up a crystal tumbler from the corner of my desk and launching it to the opposite wall, where it shatters. Rico’s arm sweeps out to the side, pulling Daph against his chest to protect her from the small shards of glass that ricochet around the space.
The sight of him shielding her—the way he protectively pulls her to him without fear of the repercussions—causes the last remaining tether of my control to snap. I lurch forward, shoving him back as I envelop her in my embrace. Cradling her face against my chest, I secure her form to mine. My arm around her waist tightens to ensure there isn’t an ounce of space between us, allowing the heat of her body to seep into my skin.
Dropping my face to her hair, I breathe in the sweet scent of strawberries before pressing a kiss atop her head. Having her in such close proximity helps to temper the homicidal rage swelling within me. I continue to breathe in her scent. Once, twice, three times, before releasing the nape of her neck in favor of wrapping both arms around her. Turning my attention back to Rico, I calmly issue the demand once more.
“You bring me Lucian Devoreaux within the hour, or I’m going hunting. And when I find him? It’ll be on sight. Your choice.”
