Page 66 of Inflame

I frown over his disappointment.

“Bu—”

“No,” he snaps. “Not a fucking word.”

19

NIC

I am not an angry person. I pride myself on having an even temper. I can control my actions.

Except for tonight.

Tonight, I am about to explode.

Claire promised me she would be safe. I promised Graham they would be safe. I fucking hate breaking promises. This is why I rarely make any.

I want to scream at the trembling woman in my arms. She feels so small compared to my larger frame. I want to shake her and remind her of how horrible tonight could have gone if I didn’t come rescue them.

My eyes connect with Graham’s and I know he is relieved to have Angie back at his side, tucked into the safety he offers. As soon as I watched the girls go off course on my tracking app, I checked in with their driver who verified that the performance was over and that the crowd was exiting the venue. I should have known that they would get distracted or want to explore more of the city. All night, I wanted to crash their fun, but I resisted. I knew this was their girls’ night to relax and enjoy some naked men. So, despite my better judgment, I told Graham they would be safe without a bodyguard. Nope. Not safe at all.

I let out a sigh. When I saw Claire’s frail body lying on the dance floor, I wanted to murder someone. She brings out all of my protective instincts—when it comes to the opposite sex—that I thought were dormant since Tara.

“You all had your fun for the night. Let’s get back,” Graham breaks the silence.

“Are you hurt?” I ask Claire, placing her on her feet and looking her over.

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. I know she is a strong woman. I also know that she got kicked in the head.

My eyes narrow on hers. “You sure?”

Just a nod. That’s all I get.

“You’ll need to ice your cheek when we get back.” I take a deep breath, trying to lessen my anger.

“I'm sorry,” Angie whispers to Claire, who looks devastated that her friend got hurt.

Claire fights back the tears that pool in her eyes. Shit. I can’t do tears.

Graham leads us to the idling SUV and helps the girls into the backseat. I join them, sitting so close to Claire that I can smell her vanilla fragrance.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, looking up at me with eyes full of sorrow.

“No.”

“No?”

“I was. But I calmed myself down.” I watch as the driver pulls away from the curb and takes us back to the main strip. “You should’ve let me know where you were going. I know why you wanted to extend your night out. I get it. But you should have let one of us know.”

“How did you find us?”

“Instincts,” I half lie. “I knew what time the show ended, and when your driver informed me that you both were missing, we investigated.”

It is midnight, and the exhaustion in Claire’s eyes is evident. Her breathing has calmed down by the time we pull up to the front entrance of the Bellagio. I help her and Angie out of the backseat and join Graham.

I know my brother was stressed out while we raced to get to Cammy’s. If anything worse would have happened to the girls, he would have gone ballistic. I have seen him in action. I know his limits. They rival my own.

Once inside the suite, we disperse and go into our designated rooms. Before Graham shuts his door, he looks back at me and motions for his phone, signaling to me that I should wait for his text.

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