Defiance (The Protectors #9)(25)

Chapter 8





Vincent





“Yeah, might not hurt, Ronan,” I said as I felt my watch vibrating. I glanced at it and saw the location pop up. Nathan was up and leaving his room. “Keep me posted,” I said as I glanced at the monitor that would show Nathan. I hung up the phone and watched him head towards my bedroom. He knocked and waited a few seconds, but I was glad when he didn’t just walk into the room. I didn’t have anything to hide, but I was already struggling to deal with having him in my house. Knowing he’d been in my bedroom would have felt like my last sanctuary had been breached.

When he turned around and began walking down the hallway towards the stairs, I got up and left the office. I still had no clue what to say to him. I shouldn’t have left the damn digital player on the bed. But I’d been so lost in the sounds of his sobs and the sight of him sitting broken in that shower stall, that I hadn’t given much thought to how he might feel knowing I’d heard him. Hell, I didn’t even know how I felt. What I did know was that it had taken everything in me not to walk into that shower and pull him up off the floor, his nakedness be damned, and demand he tell me what was wrong. I supposed it could have been the lingering shock from the attack, but I doubted it. I suspected the issue was much closer to home, and it was the very reason I wasn’t going to tell him that I’d told Ronan he might want to put some guys on Brody and his men. Ronan had agreed, but his guys would be shadowing the men so they wouldn’t know they were being watched. Anything else would just cause them to worry about each other and Nathan. And if Nathan knew the failed attack could potentially be putting his brother at greater risk, he’d never be able to relax and help me figure out who was behind all of this.

And I really needed to figure it out, because I wanted him out of my house and out of my life. I’d been in his physical presence for less than twenty-four hours and it was already becoming a serious distraction. The way he’d stood up to me after I’d told him his only job was to get himself out of the house if we came under attack had been too much. I’d been pissed, yes, but I’d been a lot more than that.

I met him at the bottom of the stairs. My perpetual shadow, Mickey, sat down next to me and I saw Nathan smile when his eyes fell on the cat. It wasn’t the carefree, natural smile I really wanted to see someday, but it still had my insides dancing. When his gaze returned to me, he shuttered whatever emotion he’d been feeling and I saw his cheeks color.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sleep so late,” he murmured.

“It’s fine,” I said.

He stopped a few steps above me and shook his head. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head and pushed past me. “What?” I asked, grabbing his arm.

“You heard me, didn’t you?” he asked.

When I didn’t answer quickly enough, he pulled free of my hold and headed towards the kitchen. I followed him and watched him go to the fridge. Before he opened it, he looked at me and I nodded. He yanked it open and scanned the contents.

“Hard shit’s in there,” I said as I motioned to the lower cabinet next to the fridge.

He closed the refrigerator and began rifling through the cabinet until he found what he wanted.

Whiskey.

A man after my own heart.

He plunked the bottle down on the island between us. “Up there,” I said when he looked at me questioningly. He followed my gaze to the upper cabinet right behind him. He pulled out two glasses and splashed a generous amount of the alcohol into each one before reaching for one and downing a healthy swallow.

“Don’t fucking feel sorry for me,” he snapped, and then he pushed the second glass towards me. “Go back to being a dick.”

I chuckled and said, “You got it…you drunken asshole.”

A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. “Prick,” he muttered and then he took another drink.

“Food’s in the microwave,” I said.

“Not hungry.”

“It wasn’t an offer,” I responded. Nathan’s eyes went dark. God, he’d be such a hot piece of ass in bed. I just knew he’d give as good as he got. The image of fighting him for control in my huge bed had me growing hard just like that, and I went to sit down at the kitchen table so I could hide my predicament.

Nathan went to examine the contents of the plate I’d prepared for him and then began the process of heating it up. He didn’t ask where the silverware was and instead, began searching through my drawers. I supposed it was his way of rebelling, so I held my tongue and focused on him. He still looked tired, but he was moving easily. He’d unwrapped his hand and he was definitely favoring it, but I didn’t see any signs of fresh blood. I should have berated him for getting the stitches wet, but I held my tongue. I’d save the comment for when he needed a reason to get pissed at me.

My eyes fell to his ass when I realized what it was about him that looked so different. He was wearing jeans. Not particularly loose ones, either. The man looked damn good in dress pants, but the casual look was working for him too. His hair looked deliciously rumpled and the gray T-shirt he was wearing stretched tight across his chest.

I took another swig of my drink as I watched Nathan grab the plate from the microwave and carry it, the silverware, and his drink over to the table to sit across from me. When I’d built the house, I knew I’d have no need for a big dining area, so the table only seated four people and I’d removed two of the chairs altogether and slid the table up against the window. On the occasions that Everett would join me for dinner, we often ate in the living room in front of the TV. I hadn’t given much thought about how close I’d be to Nathan at the table. As it was, if I moved my foot just a little, I’d be able to reach his beneath the table. I was surprised our knees weren’t knocking, considering we were both so tall.