“She can’t be here,” he demanded again.
I turned my attention back to the woman while I continued to speak to the man who was making a feeble attempt at passing himself off as security. “She’s here. And she’s not leaving until I say she’s leaving. Understand?”
Ransom’s sister craned her neck, staring up at me. I could sense her trepidation, but I could tell I wasn’t the one causing it. Nor did she seem the least bit perplexed by the jackass with the superiority complex. Since I was acting as a wall between her and the men who were determined to drag her out, she was safe from them.
Which begged the question: what had her so worried?
“Look, man,” the guy muttered, his voice lower but no less adamant. “I’m not some submissive you can boss around. I’m TJ Arlington’s second-in-command.”
Very, very slowly, ensuring he could see my displeasure with the interruption, I turned to face him, because clearly he wasn’t going to get the message otherwise. “Well, why didn’t you lead with that?”
The smug look he gave me said he saw himself as far more important than he was.
“If you had…” I pretended to consider it for one heartbeat, two. Then shook my head, smirked. “No. It would’ve had no impact whatsoever.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“You should be.” I lowered my voice to a guttural growl. “I don’t give a fuck who you are. I suggest you scurry off, find me the top dog. Perhaps he’ll have a bit more respect for Mr. Arlington’s guests.”
“She’s not a guest,” he argued.
“Maybe not. But I am.” I started to turn back to Ransom’s sister, sparing him one final glance. “Consider her my plus-one. Interrupt me again, you won’t walk out of here under your own steam.”
He swallowed, clearly detecting the sincerity of my threat. I didn’t bother waiting for him to walk away before I turned my attention where it belonged.
“What’s your name?” I asked, ensuring my frustration didn’t bleed into the words.
“Braelyn,” she whispered, still looking up at me. “Braelyn Bishop.”
“I’m Talon.”
As though she’d heard my name before, her eyes flared slightly before settling. Considering my friendship with Ransom, it didn’t surprise me that he had talked about me at some point. Question was, what information had he relayed to her?
I took one step back, giving her room to breathe, but I kept her shielded in the corner.
“Why don’t you try calling him again,” I suggested.
As Braelyn reached for her phone, someone called my name from behind me.
The familiar voice had me turning to see TJ Arlington strolling my way.
A foreign need to defend had me standing taller, broadening my stance as I turned my back on Braelyn. Didn’t matter that I knew TJ wasn’t a threat, I was still prepared to protect her.
“Relax, big guy,” TJ murmured. “I just wanted to let you know you’ve got access to anyplace in my home.” He motioned down the hall. “There’s a library and an office that way. Guest rooms upstairs. I’ve informed my boys to keep clear.”
“You should teach your boys respect,” I stated flatly, glancing past him at the two jerk-offs I’d had the displeasure of dealing with.
TJ’s gaze skimmed my face. It was obvious he wasn’t sure how to respond to that remark, but I knew him. Well, in fact. He would take my request to heart, deal with them appropriately. TJ was not a man who wanted to come across as lacking in any manner.
“Consider it done,” he said, his tone somewhat clipped.
I offered a nod of thanks.
Without waiting for more, TJ turned and walked off, greeting another guest.
“Perhaps we should check out the library,” I told Braelyn when I turned back, gesturing for her to head down the hallway.
She smiled, obviously hearing the mirth in my tone. While I did have a library in several of my residences, including my main estate on Sapphire Island, I still considered home libraries to be pretentious. As for my reasons for having a room dedicated solely to books … well, to put it simply, it was par for the course. Considering what I did for a living, people expected certain things from me. And though I couldn’t care less what others thought, my ridiculous wealth, which far surpassed anyone at this party, afforded me plenty.
When we stepped into TJ’s ostentatious library, I waited while Braelyn tried to call her brother, the phone to her ear.
After a few seconds, she shook her head, frowning. “He’s still not answering.”
Retrieving my own phone, I pulled up Ransom’s contact info and dialed his number. A few seconds later, I was leaving a voicemail.
“Does he usually avoid your calls?” Braelyn asked, sagging against the wall, arms crossed over her chest.
“No. Never.”
“Shit,” she muttered, then she was on the move, pacing back and forth.
I followed her movements briefly before scanning the room. The ceiling was roughly twenty feet high, some awkward mural of what could’ve passed for Greek mythology painted across it. The walls were lined with dark wood shelving, all filled to overflowing with books. The bulk of which I was almost certain cost more than a small country. One entire bookshelf was dedicated to TJ Arlington and his plethora of BDSM-related publications.
I doubted Braelyn would’ve been able to tell me the color of the shelves much less a single book title since she seemed to be studying the overpriced gold rug covering a majority of the floor as she blazed a trail back and forth over it.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on,” I suggested. “Perhaps I can help.”
When she stopped her midnight marathon, Braelyn turned to look at me. This time, when those beautiful eyes met mine, they were flooded with tears. It was clear she was making an attempt to hold them back but failed when one glistening drop rolled over her smooth cheek.
Later, when I was alone, I would ponder my reasons for wanting to pull her into my arms, shield her from whatever torment plagued her, protect her from all the evils of the world. That wasn’t an emotion I was aware I’d been programmed with, being that I’d never felt it before.
ONE
Fourteen months later
Wednesday, December 30, 2020
Braelyn Bishop
“How long have you been in the area?”
The question came from the handsome, if a bit plain, man sitting across from me, and now that I thought about it, it was possible this was the second time he’d asked me that tonight. Maybe the third.
Question was: did he not believe me? Or did he just not listen?
Either way, I offered a smile, said (again), “All my life.”
Matthew “my friends call me Matty” Sandusky, my date for the evening, had been interrogating me with mundane and unimaginative questions ever since we sat down for dinner at one of the most popular restaurants in Chicago. And while the food was exquisite at this particular establishment, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it for a first date.
If Matty— Nope, can’t do it. He’s a grown man, for heaven’s sake.
If Matt had known anything about me at all, he would’ve known I wasn’t fond of pretentious, and this place had left pretentious a few rungs down on the ladder. This was one of those linen-and-candlelight venues, the kind you selected when you had something important to celebrate like a graduation or an engagement or most definitely an anniversary. Not a first date. Not with me, anyway.