Page 89 of Taking Denver

The man turns, the book open in his hand. He’s in a suit, with dark hair pulled into a low bun and blue eyes bright with amusement.

And I already know who he is.

“Ranger,” Wilder Harland says, slapping the book closed as he faces me. “It’s so good to meet you face to face.”

I step forward, and the cool metal of a gun against my temple stops me.

“This is spectacularly dumb of you,” I say.

Wilder scrunches up his nose. “I prefer to think of it as bold. Your security sucks, by the way.” He places the book back on the shelf and pats the back of my office chair. “Please. Sit. You’re the man of the house.” I remain motionless. There are three guns in this room. One strapped beneath the desk, another in a drawer, and a third on the bookcase to my right.

“If you’re wondering about weapons, Jonno swept the room,” Wilder says, nodding at the man with the gun at my head. “Now, please sit, or I’ll go upstairs and introduce myself to Denver.”

“Fucking touch her?—”

Wilder waves his hand. “Yes, you’ll kill for her, blah, blah. I just want to talk.”

He rounds the desk and sits in one of the chairs opposite it.

I take my place in my office chair and get a better look at the man who has been harassing me for months. He’s slim but strong, though I have no doubt I could snap him in half, and I will.

Wilder sighs. “See, was this so hard? All you had to do was agree to a meeting.”

I watch him with disinterest. “You’re a rat, Wilder. I don’t work with rats.”

“The McEwans had it coming,” Wilder says, shrugging. “They’re arrogant, and I dislike pushy people.”

I arch a brow. “Isn’t that slight hypocrisy on your part?”

He chuckles. “I suppose. But I do it with much more flare.”

“Not what your brother thinks.”

Wilder’s smile vanishes. “What the fuck do you know about Colt?”

“I know he’s less than happy with how you’ve been behaving,” I say, reaching for my cigarettes. I offer him one, but he continues glaring as I place one between my lips. “In fact, I heard that since you’ve been dicking around in California, he’sbeen fixing your mess by promising to keep your boney ass in line.”

Wilder’s cheeks redden, blotches of heat climbing across his neck.

“The McEwans are doing as Colt asks because they’re scared,” Wilder bites out. “They know we’re stronger than them.”

I chuckle, snatching a match against the box. “From what I’ve heard, Colt is the strong one, not you. He’s spent years building relationships with the Irish and Italian families. Word is, he’s not exactly unfriendly with the Russians, either. It isn’t easy keeping those kinds of ties strong. And you’re single-handedly fucking them up for him.” I light the cigarette and shake out the match. “So, you tell me, Wilder. Which of the Harland brothers is strong? Because it isn’t the both of you.”

Wilder slams his fist against the table, and I grin, letting the smoke from the cigarette curl around my lips.

“You won’t be smiling when I kill you,” he says, and I laugh. “I’ll make you watch Denver die first.”

I exhale. “Wilder, this threat is getting old. You’re not going to kill Denver.”

“I certainly hope not.” Denver’s voice has my attention darting to the door. She’s still in her t-shirt, but she’s no longer teary or quiet. Her gray eyes are bright, her expression unamused as she observes the scene.

Run, little bird. Run.

Wilder might be pathetic, but he’s panicking, which makes him dangerous.

But Denver steps into the room and unfolds her arm, placing her phone on the desk between Wilder and myself.

“You left your phone upstairs,” she says, positioning herself by my side, her arm on the back of my chair. “So, what’s all this about?”

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