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“Okay, dear, this is the part I know you aren’t going to like.” She pulls out a needle and a bunch of small tubes, making me jerk out of my chair. “Perhaps you should sit with her, Mr. Gambino.”
Without pause, he picks me up and settles me in his lap. I want to burrow deeper into him, though; I need to touch him more. He must sense it because he lifts his shirt and waits until I’m buried as far into him as I can before covering me with it.
“Never thought I’d see the day.” There’s a smile in her voice.
“What?” he snaps, rubbing a hand up and down my back.
“That you’d have this. She is something special.” He grunts his response, kissing the top of my head. I sigh as I listen to his heart pounding. The steady thump keeps me from freaking out when she begins to explain what she’s doing. I jump slightly when I feel the prick in my arm, but otherwise, I curb the whimper of fear.
Nick’s hold on me tightens as he answers Miranda. “She’s everything.” Can a body sing? Because mine feels like it does in this moment. I never want this to end.
CHAPTER 8
Nick
The sun has barely risen yet, and I feel like the day should already be over.
After Miranda left last night—giving Rue a tentative clean bill of health, aside from some nutritional concerns—I’d forced Rue into bed, and the house was once again quiet. She had a fitful first few hours but finally settled down around three in the morning, and only after I’d practically laid on top of her. The pressure of my weight must have eased her into relaxation.
Mickey’s prowling mixed with growls woke me up thirty minutes ago. Something had the feline agitated; he’d gone directly to the back door and began nosing around. I watched him on the cameras in my office, laughing a bit as he scared the shit out of some of the most ruthless men I’ve ever known while investigating the entire property.
After all his exploring, he’d come back to the house, no less irritated, which made me certain that something or someone that wasn’t supposed to be around, was. I might just leave the cat out there tonight; let him have some fun with whoever is trying to breach my property.
The headlights of Granger’s SUV light the driveway just as Mickey leaps off my desk. The fucker keeps knocking everything off, so I haven’t bothered to put anything back. I don’t think I will, either. His sleek body rushes to the front door, hiding behind a piece of furniture, poised to pounce if necessary.
I suppose this will be a test of how prepared these men Granger has chosen will be. Opening the door, a hostile sound comes from the feline as my man enters. He spots the animal, already prepared, and steps to the side, staying out of his way.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I eye up each unfamiliar man as they enter my home. Big, muscle-bound guys with a hard edge in their eyes, each set assessing their surroundings, counting the exits, points of entry, anything that can be construed as a threat. Good. That’s precisely what I wanted.
“I need to know how you were discharged from the Army.” If any of them were dishonorably discharged, they’re out of here. Granger hands me four files, one per man, containing the information I requested, but I want to hear their answers. See their eyes to know whether they’re lying to me or not.
“Bruno, Sarge, Butch, and Kane.” Granger points to each of them. The similarity between Granger and Sarge is obvious now. If I didn’t know they were cousins, I’d think they were brothers.
I study their faces as they answer my question. Each of them discharged medically or retired. Just what I wanted to hear. Winston and George make an appearance—not even glancing at Mickey as they pass—informing me that they’ll be serving breakfast in fifteen minutes. The implication that we’re expected at the table is clear. Pushy fuckers.
“Grange explain what I want?” I look to Sarge; I can tell from the way he stands slightly in front of the other men that he’s the one who had been in charge in their unit.
“A little, but he said you’d be more detailed.” Nodding, I tap the files against my thigh.
With a click of my tongue, I pivot, waiting for Mickey to make his move. It only takes a second to elicit multiple curses. Turning back, I spot Sarge with a weapon aimed at the cat perched on Butch’s back as he lays on the floor.
“Test, gentlemen. You’ve failed.” More colorful language follows as I enter the dining room, nodding for them to each take a seat.
“What in the fuck is that thing?” Kane growls at the cat prowling around their feet. Granger smirks amusedly.
“That,” I say as Mickey jumps up on the table to my left, sitting like he’s some kind of king, “is Mickey. One of Rue’s felines. He will and has protected her since she got him. He has killed for her, and I have no doubt he will again.”
“But what is it?” Bruno eyes him warily.
“A Serval. Like a mini leopard and just as deadly. You’ll need to learn to trust his instincts because he hasn’t been wrong yet.” They each settle into their chairs as George comes in with plates of food.
“The table, really, Nick?” His eyeroll earns him a hiss from my companion.
“If you’d like to tell him he can’t be up here, have at it. I like my fingers where they are, thank you.” I have no doubt Mickey would rip the hands off anyone but Rue, who tries to tell him what to do.
“The girl,” Sarge speaks as George leaves. “Who is she?”
“Rue Ricci.” There’s a shared look among them, so I know they recognize the last name. Like us, they probably didn’t know she existed. “She was locked away for over a decade. Everything around her is new. She has a hard time speaking to strangers, so don’t be surprised if she watches you but avoids eye contact and doesn’t speak often.”
