Page 50 of Burning Ivy (The KORT)

He smiles knowingly. It seems that information is old news to the doctor. “You’ll be able to request at least twenty when we’re through. And I’ll pay you ten to keep her safe and hidden for her college years.”

Seriously? She’s only midway through her senior year in high school.

My pulse thumps in my ears and wrists and temples, like a timebomb about to detonate. “College? She won’t be finished until four and a half years from now.”

“Yes. And at that time, I will personally help transition her. She’ll walk into your custody of her own accord, ready to assume her role. Your client will be in awe of your prowess.”

Thirty fucking million.

“There’s more, Mr. Wells. I know who you are, and while you might not know what you’re capable of inheriting, I can show you a gold mine. The thirty million will be chump change, but you’ll need to prove you can put my daughter first.”

What the hell?He must be referring to my grandfather’s organization. My grandfather doesn’t know who I am, but I’m aware of who he is, and while I’m not certain of the family’s inner workings or how far his influence stretches, I know he’s powerful. But I won’t be anyone’s yes man.

I think Dr. Kingston knows that though. And my extended family has nothing to do with Ivanna. No, there’s a bigger prize here—something that makes thirty million chump change.

Ten million to keep her safe and the promise of far more. Plus, the bonus of a guilt-free conscience. It’s a no-brainer. I’m certain the seven and a half million apiece will be enough to entice my guys, not to mention all the other jobs we can complete in that time. We’ve been doing well for ourselves, but this is next level.

I study the picture of Ivanna on his desk. She’s gorgeous—freckled cheeks, button nose, big blue eyes, and ginger hair. Even in a photograph, there’s something so dynamic about her. So captivating. Like she has something spectacular brewing beneath the surface, a quality she tries to hide. I sigh, knowing I was lost to this deal before I ever walked through his door. How could I not sign on to watch her when taking my eyes off her is painful?

“You have a deal, Dr. Kingston.”

He stands, buttons his suit jacket, and saunters toward me to shake my hand again as I rise and fasten my own jacket. “Glad to hear it, Mr. Wells. Ivanna will be hosting her eighteenth birthday party this weekend.Security will need to be tight. My secretary will send over the details and the contract for our agreement.”

“Very well. I’ll be in touch.” I make my way toward the door, Dr. Kingston matching my steps. He stops, his hand on the doorknob.

“What led you to her?” he asks, and for the first time, I see fear mar his features.

“A ruby necklace—serial number,” I offer, watching to see if it means anything to him.

His brow line wrinkles. “It was lost. How?”

“Gemma Frost had it from Camp Hideaway. She recently decided to have it appraised.”

“Goddammit,” he hisses. “And Gemma is—”

“Dead,” I say, confirming what he already suspected.

His eyes close briefly on a sharp inhale, but with that small breath, he screams pain and regret. Dr. Kingston is a man who will garner my respect—brilliant, cunning, and clearly has a heart. My mother would’ve liked him.

And his daughter—I guess she’ll double as my most important job and my new obsession. Not that he needs to know the latter.

That memory plagues me all the way to counting room two. Hypnotically. The rush to get here is a blur. I pause to lean against the wall, my lungs burning. This is fear. I don’t do fear. I lead. I control. I fix. I conquer. Whatever she’s fucking doing to me needs to morph into rage so I can eradicate this mess and close the goddamn deal.

The fucking bastard tried to take her from me.

He drugged her and put his hands on her.

He robbed me of fucking my bride.

He needs to suffer.

I punch in the code and swing open the door to find Axel, Ryker, Liam, and Gage playing cards at a round table while our guest slumps in a chair—bound, bloody, and gagged—in the middle of the room. They’ve already had some fun with him beyond the broken arm and nose he received upstairs.

The door slams and latches behind me with an echo. Since that disturbance announces my arrival, I don’t bother with greetings. I snick open my Benchmade Infidel switchblade, stalk toward the fucker who dared to touch Ivy, and slice off his ear.

Blood gushes and spurts, but his screams are muffled by the duct tape gagging him.

I flip the severed lobe in my hand and toss it to Gage. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

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