Page 31 of Taking Denver

Ranger raises his brows as if confused by my silence. Dipping his hand into his inside suit pocket, he withdraws his phone and reads from it. “Ethan Defender, thirty-two, veterinarian, lives at 1182 Foresters Avenue in the great state of California, and a big fan of Jack Daniels.” A grin spreads across his face. “Or was vodka more your thing?”

I steady my breathing. “No, you were right about the Jack.”

Ranger’s grin widens. “My dad was the same. He never met a bottle he couldn’t polish off. Even as a kid, I understood how weak that was. Shackled to his vices.” He considers the beer, twisting it on the counter, the glass grinding against the marble. “But it taught me how important control is.”

“Is that what you do with Denver? Control her?”

Dark eyes snap up to meet mine. It’s a stupid, challenging question, but my skin is crawling with the urge to fight. If I can’t use my fists, I’ll use my words.

Ranger tilts his head like the lion has decided its meal isn’t worth the blood that would stain its claws. “Was NA a need, too? Or did you decide if you were giving up alcohol, you might as well avoid drugs, too?”

I clench my fists at my sides. The thirst to hit Ranger is stronger than the one telling me to finish the beer.

“No smart-ass answer this time?” Ranger asks. I remain quiet. Anything I say will end in bloodshed. If I hit Ranger once, I won’t stop until one of us is dead. “I suppose it doesn’t matter either way. I only came here to say two things. The first is thank you.”

I almost topple the fuck over. “For what?”

“For saving her,” Ranger says simply, stepping around the counter. “I’m not too proud a man to be grateful when necessary. You kept her alive, and it’s the only reason your heart is still beating.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

Ranger closes the space between us. Though he has only two inches on me, it’s such an unfamiliar sensation to have someone taller than me that I might as well be on my knees.

Ranger grins. I think of all the men who have that smile burned into their memory before a bullet tore through wherever memories were stored.

“You know, Ethan, I clawed my way up in this world because there were two things I wanted more than anything—money and power. Money meant food, power meant respect, and nothing was more important than getting to the position I hold now.” Just as quickly as it appeared, his smile vanishes. Eyes like pits of darkness, a grave of which I’d never claw out of, stare down at me. “Until her.” That control Ranger spoke of slips. A slither of obsession appears in his eyes, one that I recognize all too well. “Denver is my beginning, my middle, and my end. There is nothing I would not doforher,becauseof her,withher. I was forged in hell, and she is my fucking salvation. So, if you touch her again, Ethan, I won’t just kill you. I’ll make sure everyone knows how you died—with whiskey in your gut and a needle in your arm.”

When I used to box, I was taught never to underestimate my opponent. Arrogance meant getting knocked on your ass. It was smarter to know exactly who was about to hit you and what they were capable of.

But that doesn’t mean I’m smart enough to keep my mouth shut around that potential threat.

“It sounds like you have a vice of your own, Ranger,” I say, hoping the indifference in my voice masks my growing unease.

Ranger’s shadowed demeanor vanishes, and he smirks. “I guess I do.” He steps away, and I blink quickly, releasing a breath. Ranger returns to the kitchenette, picks up the beer, and slams the base onto the counter. Suds climb up the bottleneck and drip down the glass, spreading across the kitchen counter and onto the floor. “You’ll be able to clean that up, right?”

He strides from the room like a lightning-encased shadow, and the wall trembles when he closes the door behind him.

Chapter 11

Denver

Asequence of thumps wakes me. I squint, one leg dangling off the sofa, the other inexplicably over the back of it. How did I sleep in this position?

The thumping is coming from Wesson’s tail. From where I lie, I can see him staring at the closed ensuite door, tongue out, tail smacking against the floor in a rhythm. The shower water stops running, and Wesson stands, wiggling his hips.

The ensuite door opens and as steam billows out, I brace myself for Ranger in a towel.

He’s always been god-like, with his voice, power, and strength. And then there’s his body: solid muscle, golden skin, and a dusting of dark hair across a broad, powerful chest.

The first day I met him, I’d stared in bewilderment that men like him even existed. His presence and voice curled around me instantly, luring me into a den of wolves, a willing and stupid sacrifice. The screams in the night shattered the handsome, white-knight illusion, and blood-covered clothes only emphasized the truth: He was just like my dad but, somehow, worse.

My dad hadn’t been terrible—to me. He’d loved me without question and acted the same as any other parent. Stern,overbearing, protective. We had dinner together almost every night. He took an interest in my schooling and the few friends I had and even danced like a dad. He’d forced me to cha-cha with him in the sitting room before prom, and it was mortifying but also one of my favorite memories.

I knew beneath the surface who he was. I saw it in the wide eyes of my classmates and then my colleagues when I started working as a paralegal. I was Nico DeLuca’s daughter, and I wasn’t to be crossed.

And then a car accident stole him from me.

There had been people at the funeral I didn’t know. Kind words I didn’t care about. And then a will. The final letter from my father told me he was proud, he loved me, and I’d never want for anything, but until I found my feet, I was to stay with Ranger Luxe.

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