Page 62 of Under His Protection

Turning to her, I resolved to erase that tight expression of anxiety from her gorgeous face. Her features should never be taut and strained with such worry, and I despised that she was ever put in this position at all.

“Can we go?” she asked. Her throat tightened with the difficulty of her swallow, more evidence of how tense she was.

“Yes.” I exhaled, wishing one simple breath out could purge the tension and rage bottling up inside me. “Let’s go home.”

She nodded, grateful and clearly at ease that I wouldn’t force her to stay here any longer. After the way the MC and Stefan had made their arrival known, with gunfire and anger, I doubted the gala would finish.

Romeo approached us, and Franco wasn’t too far behind him. Eva remained off to the side, speaking with the soldiers who stayed with her for security.

“I’m taking her home,” I told my son.

He nodded once. Franco did as well before he said, “I’ve asked more men to follow them out.” He narrowed his eyes, seething as he gazed in the direction of where Stefan led the bikers away. “We already knew those assholes were going to cause us trouble.”

Romeo smirked. “Sooner than later.”

“I’m sorry?—”

I tugged Nina to my side, hugging her tighter and silencing her. “None of this is your fault. None of it.” Once she lifted her troubled gaze up to meet mine, she frowned.

“I don’t want to hear another goddamn word of an apology from your lips,” I scolded.

She pressed her mouth shut in a firm line. I couldn’t tell if it was stubbornness that had her peeved that I was controlling her like this or that she was refraining from speaking up again.

We had to talk. She had to listen. But not here. As soon as we had some privacy again, we’d discuss it all. Before we arrived, I planned to tell her that I wanted her for good. Now, it seemed I would need to reiterate that, anyway.

Because no one was taking her from me.

Not the Devil’s Brothers MC. Not Stefan. No one.

Nina would be mine for good.

24

NINA

Nina

Dante was on the phone on the drive back to his house. From what I could tell as I sat in the passenger seat and let the scenery out the window blur past me, he was checking in with many members of the Constella force. Stefan and those bikers had caused a huge uproar, and I had no doubt that follow-up would be needed.

“You can just drop me off,” I said when he wasn’t actively on a call. “If you’re needed to… do damage control and supervise…”

He shook his head. “No. Romeo and Franco can handle things for me.”

“But you don’t need to coddle me.”

Shooting me a stern look, he urged me to give up that argument. Maybe coddling wasn’t something a rough, tough man like him could do. “I don’t need special treatment.”

He didn’t reply, answering his phone yet again.

My warm, fuzzy feeling of intoxication was gone. I’d sobered up quickly with Dante’s demand to have sex the way we did, so riskily. I’d sobered up even more when I overheard men talking about kidnapping me. Seeing and hearing the gunfire and argument that Dante had with Stefan… well, that knocked me clear out of a buzz and right back into stone-cold reality.

It was a lot to take in. My brain felt too full. I had to compartmentalize all that happened, rationalize my way through all the big emotions. And then, I could feel sane and more like myself again.

Dante wasn’t ready to give me time or space to let anything sink in. Instead of leading me to the guest room I’d been staying in, he brought me to his private quarters. His room. I didn’t give myself a chance to look at the surroundings or slow down to appreciate the dark wood theme that centralized in his sanctuary.

He wanted to keep me close. That was evident in his rejection of Franco driving me home for him. I got the sense that Dante didn’t want me out of his sight at all after the gala. He kept my hand firmly in his, which I appreciated because it grounded me. He also refused to go to speak with his men and soldiers, prioritizing my presence.

And here, in his room for the first time, I felt like he wanted to trap me with him.

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