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Vander

“It’s been two months.” I growled into the phone. The plastic creaked as I gripped it tighter. “I want to know who fucking shot at my wife.”

Two months since, I’d almost had a heart attack in that hospital trying to find her. Six months ago, we’d been married. That thought had warmth blooming in my chest, but my idiot soldier’s excuses doused it out.

“Sir, it’s taking a while to—.”

“Pull security footage. Call everyone in. Get the fucking mayor to bypass the channels for you. He owes us a favor.”

I needed answers. I couldn’t keep living with this ball of anxiety next to my heart. Every time Grace went out, I could hardly breathe until she came home safe. If I could go with her, I would, but it wasn’t always possible.

I trusted Mike. He’d worked for my uncle and was one of the few men we didn’t kill after his demise. There was resistance when we came to power. When we took the family in a new direction. Death was a necessary consequence.

We needed them to fear us. Respect us. They needed to know the lines we wouldn’t cross and the punishments if they did.

And now, someone was testing our strength. Maybe. I didn’t know. That was the fucking problem. Was it an enemy? An accident? A person on the inside?

Worry clawed at my chest like a rabid beast.

“Sir…”

But whatever excuses he was giving became background chatter as the door to my office opened. My gaze snapped to Grace. That worry inside shifting into something else. Something hotter as she walked into the room.

The yellow dress she wore made her blue eyes seem brighter. But it wasn’t the color that caught my attention. It was the length.

The hem skimmed her mid-thigh, and it had spaghetti straps. My tongue came out, wetting my bottom lip as my eyes raked across all her exposed skin. I didn’t see the scars like I had told her before.

Instead, I fixated on the smooth curves of her legs. The soft skin of her arms that I wanted to run my fingers along. And her tits straining at the top of the low neckline.

Her teeth sank into her lip, and color flooded her cheeks. Her hair was down, flowing around her shoulders. She was so fucking gorgeous I forgot to breathe. I was pretty sure all the blood stopped pumping in my veins; too busy rushing towards my cock.

“Get it done.” I cut him off, hanging up the phone as she circled my desk.

Wrinkles appeared on her forehead as I turned my chair to face her. I couldn’t stop my hands from reaching out, grasping her hips, and pulling her closer until she stood between my spread thighs.

“Everything okay, Sunflower?”

She raked her fingers through my hair, and I leaned into her palm. We touched each other freely now. Like it was easy. But I still relished every single moment that I was allowed to do it. “I was going to ask you that.”

“I’m fine.” Her concern brought a smile to my lips, but it dropped. “Just trying to figure out who—.”

I couldn’t say the words. Couldn’t add another failure to the list of things I should’ve done for her. The least of which was protecting her from my world. The one I forced her to stay in by marrying me.

“Attacked me.”

A growl rumbled up my chest. My fingers flexed on her hips as I resisted the urge to drag her into my lap, where she would be protected. I wanted to chain her to me. But I wouldn’t restrict her movements.

I had to fight every instinct that told me to lock her up. That said, it was the only way to keep her safe. Because all it would do was ensure I lost her.

“It could have been random. Wrong place. Wrong time.” Her fingers gliding through my hair calmed some of the worry and rage inside me.

“It could.” We both knew it wasn’t true. But I didn’t want to voice my fears aloud. Didn’t need her stressed. Not when we were trying to get pregnant.

Fuck, the idea of seeing her swollen with my child had me harder than I’d ever been. I wanted it. So goddamn badly. Wanted to see what we could create together. Wanted her to be happy.

And a part of me needed to correct the mistakes of the past. I craved a little baby we could spoil. Give all the love that neither of us ever had.

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