Page 32 of Brutal Ice

“I’m all right.” Violet’s soft voice. “Thanks for checking on me. But I’m good.”

Simone shook her head. “No, you’re not—not if you’re going home with some?—”

“His name is Royal. And I’m safe with him. He’s not a stranger.”

Simone glanced between the two of them. “What is happening right now?”

Royal pulled Violet back toward him. “I’m glad that you were looking after her, but I have Violet now. You heard her. She’s safe with me.”

“Buddy, I don’t know you?—”

“It’s his club,” Violet blurted. “He owns it. This is Royal’s place.”

That didn’t seem to reassure the other woman.

“He’ll make certain I get home all right,” Violet added.

“Absolutely,” Royal murmured. Though it had been very good to learn that Violet didn’t go home with strangers. I don’t want her going home with any bastard but me.

When it came to Violet, his feelings weren’t exactly rational. Not that he’d ever been an overly rational sort. Too close to the edge, too aware of a dark need inside, he’d spent most of his life pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

Even the night he’d found her…

I pretended to be a savior. But I wasn’t.

Violet hugged her friend. “I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow.”

Simone still didn’t look reassured.

But the groundwork had been laid. When the other dancers left, Royal made sure to exit the building with Violet, too. He’d already ordered his car brought around. The convertible Benz was waiting, with one of his bouncers standing guard beside it.

Simone watched them approach the car. The jerk who’d tried to offer Violet the glowing shot glass earlier watched them.

Royal opened the passenger side door for Violet. She frowned at the car but didn’t speak. He made sure she was buckled before slowly making his way to the driver’s side. He tossed a wave to the people staring so intently at them.

Then a few moments later, he pulled the convertible away from the curb. “I don’t think your friends like me.”

“I don’t think you care.”

He didn’t. Guilty as charged.

“This isn’t the same car you used before.”

Nope. It wasn’t. The other car couldn’t easily be traced to him. Something he’d learned from Beau over the years…cover your ass. Having a few dummy corporations set up and ensuring that lots of red tape secured your world? Oh, that could be priceless.

The convertible glided through the streets. He kept the top down, and the stars glittered overhead. They didn’t speak again. Not until they pulled up on the short driveway that led to her rental house. The house was dark. Waiting.

The lights from his Benz lit the scene.

The engine growled.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said. “And I hope that I, uh, put on a good enough show for you.”

“You were perfect.” He killed the engine. Unhooked his seat belt.

She’d already unhooked hers and was shoving open the door.

He shoved open his, too.

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