God, I wanted to kill him.
“I’m going to keep coming for you, Ash,” he said, as if he were making a comment about the weather. “So long as you stay with that gangster asshole, I’m going to keep coming. The Healy family is shockingly accommodating, so long as you have money. And I do have a lot of money, don’t I?” He laughed and slipped his sunglasses back on.
“Good luck with that,” I said. “Gian’s going to kill you.”
“Darling, I want him to try.”
He stayed sitting as I walked away. I kept my eyes on the ground in front of me and was breathing hard by the time I left the park. Gian joined me when I moved past the tall, black fence, and onto the main sidewalk again. He put an arm around my waist and steered me away from the park, across the street, and into an alley next to a large apartment complex.
“How’d that go?” he asked. “I assume great, based on the way you’re glaring at me.”
“I hate him,” I snapped. “He says he sent the guys as a joke.”
“I guess that sounds about right,” Gian said and ran a hand through his hair. “What else did he say?”
“That he’d keeping coming. He’s working with the Healy family. He’s giving them money.” I felt dizzy and moved away from Gian. I leaned against the wall, breathing hard. Sweat trickled down my back and I thought I might be having a panic attack.
Gian stood next to me and rubbed slow circles along my shoulders. “You’ll be okay,” he said softly.
“No, I won’t.” I looked at him, desperate and scared. “You don’t understand. Stuart’s family has more money than a small country. They have connections. And Stuart’s a psycho. He’s not going to stop.”
“I’ll handle him,” Gian said, glancing back toward the park. “Let’s get you home for now.”
“You don’t get it.” I stepped right up to him and grabbed his shirt. He frowned at me, head tilted, but I pushed forward. “Stuart’s going to try to kill you and take me. He’s not going to stop, Gian.”
He gently took my hands off his shirt then pulled me close against his body. I gasped softly at the feeling of his well-defined chest and hard core muscles, and tilted my chin up toward him, my mouth falling open. I was scared and angry and desperate—and I felt that crazy, wild rush in my chest as he stared down into my eyes with those gorgeous long lashes and that perfect square jaw.
“I won’t let him anywhere near you, Ash,” he said. “I swear it. You’re safe with me.”
I wanted to believe him. But then I thought of that gun in his hand, and I wondered if I’d ever be safe again.
“Let’s go back,” I finally managed to say, and extracted myself from his arms. “We’ll figure out what to do. I’m just exhausted right now.”
He said nothing as we headed back to his truck. I sat in the passenger side and stared out the window, wondering how long I’d survive and what was going to get me first, my baby’s father, or the man I was supposed to marry, or the war that threatened to swallow them all.
12
Gian
I couldn’t leave Ash alone in the house, not after the way she reacted to her meeting with Stuart.
Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed her like that, but we needed to know what we were up against. She was shaken after leaving the park, and she stayed in her room for the rest of the night, and slept in late the next morning.
I brought her out on my usual rounds with me. We checked in on a few businesses and I introduced her to more of my crew. She was quiet and taciturn the whole time, but at least she looked fantastic in a pair of black yoga pants, a messy bun, and a tight tank top. She was dressed for the gym, but I liked a woman in work-out gear.
She didn’t say much and I didn’t try to draw her out. I figured she’d been through enough recently. Watching me beat the shit out of three guys at once, and nearly killing them was probably crossing a line, but making her meet with Stuart definitely tipped her over the edge. She was having trouble dealing with her current situation, and I wasn’t going to try to push her much harder.
I parked out front of a quiet bar called Sparkplug Lounge. She smiled a little at the name and narrowed her eyes as I got out of the truck.
“What’s this place?” she asked.
“You’ll see,” I said, and tugged her along behind me. “Come on, you’ll like it.”
“One of yours?” She blinked up at me as I pushed the door open.
“Not exactly,” I said.
The Sparkplug was a biker bar. The place was decorated in distressed wood, fake leather, and metal. Pictures of motorcycles covered the walls, filling every conceivable inch. The chairs and booths were shaped like bikes, and even the bar itself had wheels at the bottom, like it was a massive Harley. Ash looked around, her mouth hanging open, and laughed a little as I gestured toward the light fixtures that looked like motorcycle headlights.