Page 128 of Crossfire

“Wait…” My brain replayed his last word. “What do you mean,them? Is someone other than Hunter going to be there?”

“My other brothers and Hunter’s girlfriend.”

My jaw about dislocated from shock. I was going to meetmultiplemembers of his family? Was I comfortable with this?

“And like I said,” Grayson repeated in his bossy-ass tone, “you will not tellanyoneabout what I do for a living.”

“Won’t I?”

Another glare, this time with a side dish of a tightened jaw.

“You’re a smart woman, Ivy, yet you enjoy pushing my buttons. Do you find that wise?”

No. But for some reason, gently provoking you has become an intriguing prospect for a hobby.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

His stare slammed into mine, and there it was again, that primal reminder that this man killed people for a living. A strange mixture of fear and curiosity buzzed over my skin, wondering what he would do if I upset him.

“I’m trusting you, Ivy. And as a friendly reminder, we’re going there to try to save your life.”

Well, there it was again, me feeling like a royal bitch. So, I shut my mouth and watched the road fly beneath our tires.

Grayson lowered his voice as he said, “I need to tell you something.”

“Now what?”

“I don’t want to upset you.”

“That ship sailed when you tried to murder me.”

Okay, that elicited a glare from him.

“What did you do?” I demanded.

When he pursed his lips, a flash of unease surged through my body.

“I know you’re independent and you don’t want anyone’s help,” Grayson started. “It’s one of the things I admire about you, but when you were in the shower…I made a call and made arrangements to pay your grandmother’s bill.”

Grayson could’ve told me he’d trained an army of squirrel assassins, and I’d be less surprised than I was right now.

“You what?”

My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Did I hear him correctly? Grayson, the man who had been sent to kill me, was the one who was making my biggest dream in life come true?

I searched his face for any hint of deception, waiting for the punch line of a cruel joke. But all I saw was sincerity and perhaps a glimmer of something else—something that looked suspiciously like compassion.

How could he afford it? And even if he could, why would he do that for me?

Would I allow it? I never accepted handouts—ever. I was a proud woman capable of paying my bills, and yet…this wasn’t about me, was it? It was about Grams.

Grams, whose expiration date on her facility was rapidly running out. Shoving my pride out of the way, a separate tidal wave of emotions crashed over me—shock, disbelief, gratitude, and a flicker of something I couldn’t quite name. Something that made the back of my eyes sting.

“I called my accountant and told him to make it happen. And to prepay for next year as well.”

That was at least six figures.

“Where would you get the money?” I muttered, shock still slowing my words.

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