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Pierce’s jaw clenched as he looked away, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for an escape.
She caught his face between her palms and made him look at her. “Pierce, I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions about who I want to be with. My brother has nothing to do with this thing between us.”
Pierce’s eyes softened as they met hers, but the tension in his body remained. He gently grasped her wrists, pulling her hands away from his face.“I’m no good for you, Rhia.”
She scoffed. “No, don’t start with that shit. I’ve seen the kind of man you are, Pierce. The way you’ve protected us, how you risked your life to save Michael, how you care for Raszta. All that stuff in your past? It doesn’t change who you are now.”
Pierce raised his hands to respond, but before he could, Alan’s voice cut through the air, sharp and accusatory.
“What gun?”
chapter
sixteen
The question hungin the air like a thunderclap, silencing all other conversations.
Rhiannon’s heart sank as she watched Pierce’s expression harden, his walls slamming back into place. He was on his feet in an instant, his body coiled with tension as he strode across the room. After a quick glance to check on Michael, she scrambled to her feet and followed.
Alan was standing in front of the safe, his face flushed with anger, a knife glinting dangerously in his hand.
Where the hell had he found that?
Will stood a few steps behind him, looking guilty. “I-I didn’t mean to?—”
“Shut up,” Alan snarled. Then to Dottie: “Open it.”
Dottie crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”
“Now!” he roared.
Dottie flinched but held her ground, her chin tilting up at a stubborn angle. “I’m not opening it.”
Pierce took a step forward, his hands moving in rapid ASL.
Rhiannon moved forward with him, surprised at how steady her voice was as she translated: “Put the knife down, Alan. We can talk about this.”
Alan’s grip on the knife tightened, his knuckles turning white. “Stay out of this,” he growled, not taking his eyes off Dottie. “This doesn’t concern you. I want that gun.“
Rhiannon’s heart raced as she inched closer to Pierce. “What do we do?”
Alan’s expression was manic.
Pierce’s jaw clenched, his hazel eyes hard as steel. He signed, his movements sharp and precise.
“We’re not giving you the gun, Alan,” she translated. “You’re not thinking clearly. Put the knife down before someone gets hurt.”
He stabbed the knife in Pierce’s direction. “I’m done listening to him!”
“Okay, then listen to me.” She held up her hands and slid a step closer. She could all but hear Pierce’s teeth grinding behind her. No doubt he was internally cursing, but she didn’t see any other way to diffuse the situation. “Alan, please. We’re all friends here. Think of your boys. Is this what you want them to learn from you?”
Alan’s gaze flickered toward his sons, and a hint of uncertainty crossed his face.
“Just put the knife down, and let’s talk?—”
His jaw clenched, and before she realized what was happening, he grabbed her arm and yanked her close. The cold steel of the knife pressed against her throat.
“No more talking. Open the safe,” he hissed at Dottie, “or I swear to God, I’ll?—“
