Twisted Games (Twisted 2)

“I could fire you.”

I bared my teeth in a semblance of a smile. “Try.”

The Head of Royal Security oversaw my contract, but Viggo couldn’t find a way out of his ass if someone planted neon lights marking the way, much less fire me without his boss’s approval.

I released Viggo’s collar and set him on the ground when the doctor’s door opened.

“Mr. Larsen, Viggo, Elin.” If she suspected there’d been a scuffle outside her office, she didn’t show it. “I’ve finished the checkup. Come in.”

My anger at Viggo took a backseat to my concern over Bridget as we crowded into the mini clinic, where Bridget sat on the hospital bed. She didn’t look happy to see Nikolai, who stood next to her with a tight expression.

The doctor informed us Bridget did, indeed, have a concussion, but she should recover in ten to fourteen days. She also had a mild wrist sprain and the beginnings of a nasty cold. Nothing life-threatening, but she would be uncomfortable for the next few weeks.

I glared at Viggo, who shrank behind Nikolai like a coward.

I stayed after everyone else left, and the doctor took one look at my face before murmuring an excuse and slipping out the door, leaving me and Bridget alone.

“I’m fine,” Bridget said before I could open my mouth. “A few weeks of rest and I’ll be good as new.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, unconvinced. “What the hell happened? Nikolai said you ran off after you two got in an argument.”

Her face shut down. “Sibling squabble. It was nothing.”

“Bullshit. You don’t run off in anger.”

Not to mention, Bridget hadn’t spoken to him once while he was in the room, which was telling. She would never ignore her brother unless he’d really pissed her off.

“There’s a first time for everything,” she said.

A frustrated growl rose in my throat. “Dammit, princess, you need to be more careful. If something happened to you, I—” I broke off abruptly, swallowing the rest of my words. I don’t know what I’d do.

Bridget’s face softened. “I’m fine,” she repeated. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Too fuckin’ late.”

She hesitated, seeming to debate something before she said, “Because it’s your job.”

The question hung in the air, loaded with a deeper meaning.

My jaw flexed. “Yes,” I finally said, my heart doing an odd little twist again. “Because it’s my job.”