Page 87 of Don't Let Go

“Yes, luv. You were caught alone, and had to defend yourself, and I was too damn far away to take the shots for you.” The sobriety of that statement and the self-recrimination in his eyes had me reaching to hug him again.

“I don’t know if I would have gotten through it if you guys hadn’t been on the phone.”

“Let’s not ever find out, shall we?”

I didn’t want to find out. Instead, I let him coax me over to the bed. Shoes off, I slid out of the new sweatshirt, but that still left me in leggings and a tank top. Once I was under the covers, Remy set up a gun on the wall, in a holster he could velcro into place. It put a gun in reach for him.

“Too much?”

After a moment, I shook my head. “Not after today.”

A flash of a smile softened his face. I pushed back the blankets when he would have laid on top. One long studying look later, he slid into the bed next to me and wrapped an arm around me—after he rolled me onto my side so I was snug with my back to his chest.

He held up his cell phone and pressed a button. A moment later, McQuade answered. “All good back there?”

“Yep. Getting her to sleep for a while. Try not to throw us around.”

“You have faith in my driving,” McQuade said in a dry tone and I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

“Good thing that I’m driving,” Locke said, his voice a bit farther away. “Get some sleep. We’ll wake you in a few hours for breakfast.”

Few hours. I smothered a yawn. Technically, breakfast was a couple of hours away…

“Don’t call us,” Remy said, almost idly as he began to stroke my hair. “We’ll call you.” There was just a hint of humor in his voice. “Maybe.”

He hung up before they could respond. The slow massage of his fingers over my scalp eased some of the tension knotting my spine. The lance drilling into my skull was still there.

“Go to sleep, goddess,” he whispered. “Dream of me.” Bit by bit, he smoothed it away. Like water rushing over rock, the slow stroke of his hand through my hair washed the tension out of me.

It was…

“Talk to me,”I said, after hitting the button to answer the call.

“Gorgeous,” Boxer said by way of greeting.

“I told you no,” was my answer. It was almost four in the morning and I wastired. It had been a long night, I’d juggled both Remington and Locke’s operations.

Thankfully, Locke’s was more about transport and teasing. Remington’s had taken some juggling. The fact they were incompletely different parts of the world wasn’t lost on me, but I’d made it work and they were both on their way.

“You know,” he said, his tone playful. “You always start out with ‘no,’ before you even hear the question.”

I wasn’t in the mood for this. “Because the majority of the time, what you want is for me to take on something you agreed to and I’m already busy. You don’t want to keep being buried in work, stop accepting jobs. Now, I’m going?—”

“Wait,” Boxer said before I could cut off the call. “I hear you. I absolutely do. You gave me great advice before. I listened.”

“My advice was to trust your gut and if it felt hinky, say ‘no,’ and then walk away.” I reached for my coffee cup. The dregs of the last cup I’d made were in there and I downed the cold remnants in one swallow.

Disgusting, but I’d take whatever jolt it had left. My eyes were so tacky, it was like they had glue as well as sandpaper in them.

“Exactly.” Boxer snapped his fingers. Most of the time, I didn’t mind Boxer. But the past few months, his excuses for contact had grown more and more outlandish. To be fair, I should probably take my own advice. If it felt off, say no and cut the contact. “It was excellent advice.”

“So why am I talking to you?” It better be good.

“Maybe I just wanted to say thank you,” he suggested.

“Want to try that again?” I eyed my empty coffee cup and rose. My chair squeaked and my back cracked. Or maybe that was my hips. Fuck, even my ass was numb. I’d been still for too long.

“You know, you have balls that clank.” He let out a humorless laugh.

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