Page 158 of Rebel Hawke

With Wren wrapped in my arms, body tucked so perfectly into mine, my palm across her belly, and my face buried in her hair, I can almost pretend things are all right.

Savoring the feeling of having her like this.

Safe.

Secure.

Mine.

Breathing in that almond and cherry scent that usually calms me…

But it can’t tonight.

Nothing seems to.

I’ve tossed and turned for hours, unable to sleep, unable to quiet the warring voices in my head that want to pull me apart in a dozen different directions.

The biggest fight of my life looms, and rather than running over the strategy Jimmy and I perfected after reviewing all ofGordon’s fight tapes and fine-tuning my own skills, all I can think about is what will happen if I follow through with it.

If I defeat Gordon and take the belt, whatshouldbe the happiest day of my life—and certainly the biggest in my career—will be overshadowed by the knowledge that I just pissed off a mob boss and threw Coen at his mercy when I could have prevented it.

I release a frustrated sigh, tugging Wren even tighter against me.

She shifts in my hold, turning back toward me. “Hey, why aren’t you sleeping?”

Nuzzling her neck, feathering my lips across the soft, sensitive skin there, I release a little groan. “Trying, but—”

The condo door slamming shut downstairs jerks me upright, and I cut my gaze to Wren’s wide eyes. “Take your phone. Go to the bathroom. Lock the door. Don’t come out for anyone but me. If I’m not back in five minutes, call Saint and my dad. Then the police…”

“Atlas—”

Blood rushes in my ears as I scramble from the bed, slide my phone into my pocket, and tug open the nightstand, pulling out my gun. The weight of the weapon in my hand only seems to grow the closer I move to the cracked bedroom door.

I glance back at Wren in the bed, the comforter bunched up around her, apparently frozen in place. “Go.”

She throws back the duvet and climbs off the mattress in her sleep shorts and tank top, snatching her phone off the nightstand before she darts into the bathroom and secures herself inside.

The moment I hear that lock click into place, I nudge open the bedroom door and peek downstairs. Heavy footsteps sound across the main floor, echoing up. Moonlight shines in through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the far wall, illuminating theintruder who moves into the living room and grabs the edge of the couch to keep himself upright.

Each breath I take seems agonizingly loud as I inch my way onto the landing. Every step down the metal staircase is an opportunity for whoever it is to glance up and see my approach.

Weapon leveled on him, I slowly descend, watching whoever is dumb enough to break into my place in the middle of the night shake their head like they’re trying to clear it.

Completely oblivious to my approach, the bastard releases a little groan.

I reach the end of the stairs, and his head snaps up, sensing the movement in front of him.

A familiar face stares back at me with unfocused eyes.

“Coen?” I lower my gun. “Jesus Christ, man. What the fuck?”

My cousin doesn’t answer, just rubs the back of his neck and staggers slightly, like he’s unsteady on his feet.

The fucker isdrunk.

I charge across the space separating us and shove my left forearm against his throat, forcing him back against the wall and pinning him in place. My entire bodyweight pressed into him, Coen doesn’t stand a chance of bucking me off or regaining an ounce of control over the situation.

“What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the fucking night? I almost shot you!”

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