Page 6 of Undeniable

I clenched my fists, my blood boiling with anger. “I don’t care who his father is.” I couldn’t even say his name. I seethed at the mere mention of him. “That piece of—”

“Enough,” Clay roared, holding up his hand as if to silence me. “You violated SOP. You put this company and other people’slivesat stake. Disco fucked up his hand. Hell, you got injured yourself, and you’re damn lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“What was I supposed to do?” I threw my arms up, feeling as if it was a no-win situation. “Just stand by and watch?”

It sucked that Zeke had gotten hurt, but it was a job hazard. We all knew what we were getting into with executive protection. And Zeke had a better understanding than many others, thanks to his experience as a bouncer.

I’d definitely lived up to my fucking call sign—acting like a feral Saint Bernard as I pummeled the bastard.

Wyatt’s expression softened ever so slightly, and I assumed he was playing the good cop to Clay’s bad. “You can’t let douchebags like that fuck with your head or you’ll never make it in this business.”

He was right about that, but I wasn’t going to admit it. Executive protection, especially at the elite level, required cooperation from the principal. And things generally went more smoothly if the principal liked you. Or, at a minimum, didn’t dislike you. But the situation had hit a little too close to home.

“And if we didn’t know your reputation and realize that this was out of character, you’d be fired,” Wyatt said.

I wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or not.

“Which is why—” Clay took a deep breath “—you’re suspended with pay pending an investigation.”

“But—”

Clay shook his head, and I knew there was no use arguing. Clay’s word was law—at least in the New York office of Hudson Security. And deep down, I knew he was right. I’d fucked up. Besides, I was no use to anyone in the field—not at the moment.

“For how long?” I clenched my teeth, knowing this was a test. He was reading me, just as I was reading him.

“Six weeks.” When I opened my mouth to protest, he added, “At a minimum.”

Well, shit.

“Get your knee fixed, and then use the time to heal and sort your shit out. We’ll see you in the office in three weeks to reassess.”

* * *

“Shut the door,”Clay said, taking a seat at his desk. Wyatt was already seated, the Manhattan skyline glittering behind them.

I glared at my reflection in the large window. Glared at my cane. At my knee. At the fucking situation.

It had been three weeks since the incident with George. I wasn’t sure I was any closer to sorting my shit out as Clay had commanded, but I was sick of being stuck at home.

It had given me too much time to think. Too much time to worry about George’s wife and daughter, and what he’d done to them since my attack. I felt…restless. Useless.

“How’s the knee?” Clay asked when I eased into the empty chair, and I wondered if I hadn’t been able to mask my pain as well as I’d hoped.

“Fine.”

“How’s physical therapy going?”

“Fine.” I had no problem doing the physical work. It was painful, but I could see the progress I’d made, even if it wasn’t as fast as I’d hoped.

“Our team has completed their internal investigation, and we’ve come to a decision.”

Oh shit. Was he firing me?

“You’re still suspended, but we’ll reevaluate after your doctor clears you for more activity. And once some of the heat dies down from the ambassador.”

I released the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I wasn’t in the clear, far from it. My follow-up appointment was still weeks away, and I wondered how hard the ambassador had pushed. What he’d threatened. He was a powerful man with lots of connections.

I also saw Clay’s statement for what it was—a subtle warning. Stay in line, or you’re gone.

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