Page 2 of Tate
But his brain had been caught, painfully so, on Glo and that dangerous song she’d sung tonight. The one that had made him throw away caution and kiss her.
Oh, how he’d kissed her. Like he might be a man with second chances.
A man who could be the hero.
Probably his first mistake—thinking that a guy like him might escape his storyline.
Tate had been wooed by the Belles from the moment he’d met them—right after the bombing, when his brother was franticto find the girl he’d saved. But even before then, when he watched them perform from the wings of the arena where he was working security, he knew they possessed a magic. Their voices, their sound had woven into his soul, making him feel alive, free, and new. As if he didn’t have chains of regret wrapped around his throat, digging into his chest.
Then the bomb had gone off, terrifying everyone. Thankfully, no one innocent had died, but it left the band shaken, and of course he’d taken them on as clients.
If he were honest, he saw a chance to be a champion. Someone’s hero.
Glo’s hero.
She’d hired him because she’d been afraid—not for herself but for her bandmate Kelsey, who suffered from panic attacks.
It was a simple gig that got more complicated when he discovered Kelsey’s fears were founded—a man she’d put in prison was out and on her trail. Add to that the very real bombers who had issued death threats to Glo’s mother, Senator Reba Jackson, and the job went from babysitting to close and personal protection.
Very close, very personal because Glo’s smile, her teasing, and even her bravery had dug under his skin, found his bones, and edged dangerously close to his heart.
And then came tonight’s song. The hit single about loving and losing and trying again.
She…don’t wanna try,
It’s too hard to fall for another guy.
But you don’t know if you don’t start
So wait…for one true heart…one true heart…
Maybe his wait was over.
Slava kicked the table aside and advanced on him. “Yuri died in prison,” he said, giving an update. “But the Bratva remembers.”
Tate put up his hands. “He killed Raquel. What did you want from me?”
Slava threw his punch. Tate blocked it. Slava rebounded on the other side, and Tate blocked that, too, then slammed the edge of his hand into Slava’s throat.
Slava stepped back, gagging, and Tate sent his foot into his chest.
Slava flew back onto the sofa.
Tate should grab Glo and run. He was turning toward her room when?—
“Loyalty,” Slava growled, his voice gravelly. “You pledged your life to the Bratva.”
That spun Tate. “Are you kidding me? The things I did for Yuri out of loyalty make me sick!”
“You went to the FBI.” Slava got up, his dark eyes flashing.
“They came tome. And Iturned them down!” A stupid, stupid decision. But that’s what loyalty got him—betrayal, a broken heart, and the death of the woman he loved.
He couldn’t let that happen again.
He advanced on Slava. “Yuri should have trusted me.” He grabbed Slava around the waist, hooking his foot behind his leg. The big man went down, his arm around Tate’s neck.
Tate landed on top of him just as Slava clubbed him in the ribs. The pain woofed through him, thick and bracing, and he knew he’d probably injured a few vital organs. Especially when the second punch landed in the same area.
