Page 16 of Burning Ivy (The KORT)

“Ivyisthe light.”

Ty claps his hands with a victorious whoop. “The man can say more in four words than you can say all damn day, Liam. Let it go so we can move forward. He’s staked his claim.”

“That’s fucked up,” Liam balks, plucking the cigarette tucked behind his ear, lighting it with his Zippo, and taking a hasty drag. “I refuse to accept that. We’ve changed the rules, so my hat is getting thrown in the ring whether you want it to or not.” He smirks,plainly goading me, as he flicks the glowing cherry into the ashtray. “But I’m not greedy. If she’s open to it, we can share her.”

My glare is surely burning a hole through his skull while I consider killing him, slow and torturous, but Ty interjects my sentiments in a more civilized way. “Now,that’sfucked up, man. What’s gotten into you?”

Liam snickers with another puff. “I’m trying to think through this. We both want her. And we can’t let pussy come between us, so why not? She’d be spoiled by the two of us, and then no one loses.”

“Except Ivy!” Ty spits out. “She’s a traditional girl. Marriage. Babies. PTA and cocktail parties.Jesus, as if she doesn’t have enough shit to faceright now. She won’t be towing her two lovers along to events. What the hell?”

Liam is like the fraudulent mother who was willing to let Solomon cut the baby in half so she didn’t have to see someone else with the infant. Fucking narcissistic fool. It confirms what I already knew to be true. Ivy is mine. Always has been. Always will be.

With swarming visions of flattening him for his flagrant disregard of her value, I grit out my objection. “I. Don’t. Share.”

He shrugs, his lips peeling south in a slight frown. “Fine. Your loss. I’m fairly certain I can charm my way into her—”

A snarl bellows out of me as I lunge at him, my forearm securing him to the house at his throat. “Do not finish that fucking sentence. Throw your hat in the ring, Liam. It won’t concern me in the least. But you donottouch her unlesssheasksyouto marry her.” No fucking way that’s happening. “Understood?”

His face is tinged red, breathing strained, but the son of a bitch still narrows challenging eyes. “Don’t want me to deter her with my—”

I smash my arm tighter against his bobbing Adam’s apple, cutting off his air supply. “Your blood on my hands would be unfortunate, but I would not lose any sleep. No. Fucking. Touching.” Letting up slightly on my hold, I shoot a glare toward Ty. “You jumping into this boxing match too?”

“Nope.” Ty raises surrendering hands. “You and Liam are family,as is Ivy. She’s like a sister. You assholes can cockfight and risk losing her completely, but I’m keeping her forever.” He walks toward the entrance to the great room, obviously over this, pausing once he opens the French doors. “If you don’t settle this shit, you’ll get her killed. And trust me when I say, I won’t repeat my mistakes. I’ll protectthis sisterfromanyonenecessary.”

And that’s why Ty knew my plan before anyone else. That’s why I’ll trust him with Ivy. This job has become as personal to him as it has for me, just in a different way.

Liam’s eyes come back to mine once Ty disappears, his features softening, voice husky from the pressure on his vocal cords. “You know I would too, right?With my life. But we have a job to finish.”

Dropping my arm and stepping back, I scan him as he flattens his crumpled shirt and stubs out his wasted cigarette. My fingers weave into my hair with an exasperated grunt. “I know you would. And, yes, we do.”

“So, if she doesn’t come willingly?” he asks.

My gaze locks on to his with all the earnestness the answer requires. “We force her.”

I roll out of bed at the crack of dawn, having barely slept. Shouldering the stress of all of this is getting to me, and the journey is far from over. Even my morning workout routine doesn’t seem to be clearing my head. After a five-hundred-yard swim, one hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups, twenty pull-ups, and a two-mile run, I’m still as fucked up as I’ve been for days.

Reading over Liam’s reports on our offshore accounts, I chug my fourth cup of black coffee, attempt to settle myself with some classical music, and check my phone for texts from Ivy for the twentieth time. Nothing.

C’mon, Little Storm. Talk to me.

It’s not even noon, and I’m breaking out a bag of Sour Skittles,drowning my stress in sugarcoated sourness, while I continue working through my daily tasks. Popping a handful of only the strawberry in my mouth, I send a quick text.

Me: The decoy is ready. You?

The three dots dance immediately, followed by a response.

Private: Did everything asked on my end. Up to you now.

That was less pissy than our last communication, so I’ll take it.

Me: Appreciate it. She’s in good hands.

I flip my phone over, burying my face in my hands and cataloging every imaginable scenario and a contingency plan for each, which leads me to check in with Gage, who’s been too quiet. Deciding I’m not in the mood for conversation, I send a text to him as well.

Me: Status?

Another handful of Skittles to take the edge off, and I’m thinking it’s going to take a lunchtime scotch to survive this waiting game.

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