Page 89 of Broken Daddy
Fuck. Zander.
“See I’m late to the party,” Zander drawled.
“You know this guy?” Lucan asked.
“Yeah, he’s with us,” Hayes replied.
“With you?” Zander said. “Hmm, I prefer to think of it as coming to your rescue. Honestly, I should get double pay for how many times I have to save you.”
“You’ve never come to my rescue,” Hayes said.
“Then what am I doing here right now?” Zander held out his arms. “If you want me to go . . . I will.”
“You won’t go anywhere,” Lucan said and his men kept their guns aimed on Zander, who just smiled.
“Like I said, my team is here. Ammo?”
A red dot appeared on Lucan’s chest and everyone tensed.
“For fuck’s sake,” Hayes said. “You’re just making the situation worse. Put that away.”
“Ammo, clear,” Zander called out. “Just wanted to make it clear that I’m protected and so are they. Well, maybe not Hayes. He’s not being a very good team player.”
He wasn’t a team player?
Fucking hell.
“Who the fuck are you?” Lucan Mars snarled.
“I thought I already said. I’m Zander and I’m here to help these two. Now, you want to tell your men to lower their weapons? My girl really gets upset when I come home with holes in me.”
“And she won’t be happy with the rest of us,” a feminine voice called out. “Let’s wrap this up, huh?”
“Honey is in a grouchy mood. Don’t mind her. We’ve got time for a chat.”
“There’s no need to chat,” Hayes said. “We had everything sorted.” He explained the plan.
“What happens to Freddy?” Zander asked.
“That is none of your business,” Lucan replied.
“It will be if he decides to come after my guys for shooting him.”
His guys?
Dear God.
“I can promise you that there will be no retaliation. Or is my word not good enough for you?” Mars asked.
Fuck.
Hayes tensed. If Zander said the wrong thing here, they were all toast.
“Of course your word is good enough for me,” Zander replied easily.
Thank fuck.
Hayes heard Donovan sigh in relief. Although he wasn’t sure he should be relaxing just yet. He eyed Zander who looked relaxed but there was something in the way he stood . . .
