“Stop! You’re making me lose the game!” He grabs the pillow out of my hand, tossing it across the room.
I start to run for it but then turn to see that he’s not even moving from his spot on the couch. My eyes travel from him to the TV then his Xbox.
“You better not,” he says, standing.
I lunge for the game system, ready to rip it out of the wall, when I’m tackled, but somehow, Justin flips us, taking the brunt of the landing, making me land on top of him, my thighs on either side of his waist. I reach for the pillow on the floor next to me and start to lift it above my head.
“What the fuck is going on?”
I close my eyes and press my lips together when I hear Kenton’s voice, and when I open my eyes, I glare at Justin before standing up and facing the door of the living room. I fight the urge to run to him when our eyes lock. I’ve missed him these last few days, and he looks even hotter than normal with the extra scruff darkening his jaw, making it appear squarer.
“I asked a fucking question. What the fuck is going on?” he asks, taking his eyes off me, pinning Justin with a ferocious scowl.
“That’s what I want to know.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare first at Kenton and then at Justin, who glares back at me as he goes to stand next to his boss.
“Your girlfriend’s crazy,” Justin mumbles to him loud enough for me to hear.
“Shut up,” I hiss.
“No, you shut up,” he retorts immaturely.
“No, you shut up,” I repeat, taking a step towards Kenton.
“Jesus, what the fuck?!” Kenton shouts, making me jump back.
“Why’s my phone disconnected along with my e-mail and Facebook?” I ask, directing my haughtiness at Kenton this time.
He looks at me for a long moment before his head drops forward, his hand going to the back of his neck. “We need to talk,” he says, lifting his head, looking me over. Then his eyes go to Justin. “Thanks for helpin’ out,” he says begrudgingly.
“No prob, boss,” Justin says and starts to gather all of his stuff up, shoving it all back into the same bag he showed up here with.
When he’s finished packing everything, Kenton walks him to the door, where they have a quiet conversation before Kenton pats him on the back and opens the door.
“See ya around, Copper,” Justin says over his shoulder.
I give him a wave, and he smiles before heading out of the house, the front door closing behind him.
As soon as Kenton faces me again, his eyes turn dark and his jaw starts to tick. “Come here.”
“Wh-what?” I stutter, looking at his clenched fists and the pulse of his neck, which is beating rapidly.
“Come here,” he repeats, the tone of his voice making me freeze in place.
“Why?” I ask softly.
“First, I haven’t seen or touched you in days and need to reassure myself that you’re good. Second, I need your help getting the image of what I just saw out of my head.”
His words have my feet moving before my brain even has a chance to catch up. I do a face-plant into his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist and breathing him in. Every breath I take eases some of the anxiety I didn’t even know I was feeling.
“What’s going on?” I whisper into his chest. His muscles tense and I’m not sure I want to know anymore.
“Let’s sit down.” He takes my hand in his and leads me to the couch, where he tugs me down into his lap. “Your place in Vegas was broken into.”
“Shit,” I whisper. “What was taken?” I don’t really have anything of value, so I’m not too worried, but it still doesn’t feel good knowing that someone broke in.
“Nothin’,” he says, surprising me.
“What do you mean?” I ask, searching his face.
“Found out that Mick was the inside source at the club the night of the shooting.” He runs a hand down my back. “He told them who you are, and we’re guessing it was them who broke into your place.”
I don’t want to believe that Mick was involved in what happened, especially because he and Tessa were sleeping together, but I’m not really surprised. Mick is a self-centered asshole who doesn’t care about anyone but himself.
“Okay, so what do we do now?” I wonder out loud. I can’t think of anything I left behind that would lead anyone here, but I can’t be sure.
His eyebrows come together in confusion and his hand travels to the back of my neck then up into my hair, fisting it. “You’re not gonna cry?”
“No,” I reply, feeling my own eyebrows pull together, wondering why I should cry.
“Warrior,” he says quietly, his eyes going soft, making my heart pound a little harder. “I have a guy who’s connected to the organization that planned the hit. I sent him a message and am just waiting for him to get back to me.”
“What do you think they’re going to do?”
“Not sure, but I doubt they want the kind of publicity they’ll create if they try to send their guy after you.”
“What do they care about publicity if they are who you say they are?”
“They’re in control of half of Vegas. They may be Mob, but even they have an image to uphold,” he explains.
“They killed innocent people,” I remind him on a whisper. The thought of people like that caring what others think about them is laughable.
“They planned the hit, but their hands are clean.” He shrugs.
I look into his eyes and see an understanding that confuses me, and I wonder if he’s ever used that excuse. I lift my hand and run it along the roughness of his jaw. “Are you okay?” I ask him, seeing the weariness around his eyes.
“Yeah, but I’ll be even better when this shit’s over.”
I hear the tiredness in his voice and wonder how much sleep he’s gotten since he left. I push my fingers through his hair and his eyes start to close at the contact.
“You should take a nap,” I tell him softly. “We can figure out everything else later.”