Page 65 of Taking Denver

I doubt that’s all it has caused.

“They don’t want to deal in drugs?” I ask.

“No.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “The money in it is limitless, so I can only assume it’s morals or stupidity. By the sounds of Wilder Harland, it’s the latter.”

I focus on my glass, running the tip of my finger around the rim again. “So, if they’re running, then they’re panicking. Wilder won’t accept no for an answer, and I doubt he can be reasoned with.”

“Correct.”

“But just killing him outright might cause issues with people out there.” I know Ranger has contacts on the East Coast because my father had, too. Nico DeLuca left New York long before I was born, but people out there knew him, and business ties were likely never severed. Ranger might have even strengthened them. It’s smart to have friends everywhere because enemies are everywhere, too. “The Harland brothers might have caused problems, but they’ll still have some people’s loyalty, though, right? You’ll need to speak to the Italians andthe Russians in New York before you act.” Ranger says nothing, so I gather I’m on the right track. “But since when do you ask for permission to do anything?”

Now, he smiles. A wicked, beautiful smile.

“I would provoke him.” I say. “Then you can retaliate without angering the other families. You’d be protecting yourself.”

“That’s one of my options. I haven’t decided yet. Either way, the Harland brothers will die.” He takes another sip of his drink. “And you’re right. Permission isn’t really my thing.” An understatement. Ranger Luxe has taken everything he’s ever wanted. Including me. “But you see, most people would have gone for the kill without thinking. Without considering the consequences. You came up with options that removed the Harland brothers while maintaining even tenuous relationships with the families in New York.”

“That feels like a fairly obvious thing to do,” I mumble.

“You’d be surprised how many people prefer to spill blood than use their brains. You’re smart, Denver.”

“Is that why you love me?” I raise my eyes to meet his, and the softness in his gaze wars with pride.

“Partly, yes.”

I tilt my head. “Partly?” He doesn’t respond. “Because sometimes, it feels like you love me because you think you’re owed me.”

He refocuses on his drink, and it unsettles me that, despite being a man who looks men in the eye as he kills them, he can’t look at me when he next speaks.

“You’re the only person who touches me.”

The words stall my heart, and it becomes a low, rhythmic song in my chest, as if he’s timing the beats. “What?”

He rolls his jaw. “Men don’t shake my hand. Angelina slept in another room for most of our marriage. And it’s not like Axel hugs me… not that I’d want him to. But I never realized that noone touched me until you did.” My heart picks up, and I resist the urge to comfort a monster just because he’s allowing me to see the man beneath. “You’d tug on my tie, or poke me in the chest, or hug me. Although most hugs were because you wanted something,” he says pointedly, and I smile. “I started to notice the days you weren’t there, like my soul would…itchfor the closeness. I thought maybe I was just starved of it for so long that the scraps felt like feasts. But it wasn’t that. It was you.”

Every word rings true, and it was only weeks into my time living with Ranger that I noticed it, too. I’ve never had an aversion to touching people, but even I noticed how eager I was to feel Ranger, even in passing moments. At the time, I shied away from the notion that I enjoyed it and told myself I was just trying to create some kind of relationship with my new host.

As the years passed, I knew better.

“My love for you has layers, Denver. It isn’t just love. It's respect. Adoration. Awe.” He angles the rim of his glass toward him, the amber liquid catching the dim light, creating patterns on the table. “It starts with love, but it’s more. It’s?—”

“—Obsession?” I used the word tentatively, and his smile tells me he picks up on that unease.

“Yes. You’re my only vice.” His smile teeters dangerously close to a smirk as he says it. “One I don’t plan on giving up.” My chest shouldn’t warm at such a possessive statement, but it does. And when he finally meets my eye again, more warmth ripples across my skin. “I’m proud of you. You went through something difficult, and you came out the other side.”

My smile is forced. “I dealt with it by running.”

“You dealt with it in a way that didn’t kill you,” he corrects me. “Even if it did kill a piece of me in the process.”

The warmth on my skin quickly frosts over—and shame fills me.

For the first time since coming home, it dawns on me just how terribly I’ve treated him.

Something awful happened to me, yes, but I used Ranger to help me through the night. Knowing he loved me, I took that love and twisted it into my own form of self-care—and then I ran. While he fixed the mess, I’d taken Ethan to bed, and I’d fallen for him, too.

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