Page 90 of Taking Denver

Wilder is looking at Denver’s legs. My lip curls, but she speaks before I can.

“My eyes are up here, man bun.” God, I love this woman. “Ranger, there are two men out front, three out back, and two more—” She pauses as two men enter the office. “Two more are right here. What a party.”

This isn’t good. It’s far from good. I can’t protect her, and I can only assume that my men on the grounds are dead.

“This is Wilder Harland,” I say, gesturing at our guest.

“Oh,” Denver purrs out the word. “The fuck-up from the East Coast. Isn’t that how Colt described him?”

I’ve never told Denver about Colt, so she must have been listening to the conversation before she revealed she was here.

Wilder bristles, his wild eyes darting between us. Denver rests her hand on the back of my neck and taps four times. She’s already told me how many men, so she’s signaling minutes. She must have called Cal, and he’s on his way.

Four minutes may not seem a lot, but in a situation like this, it’s a lifetime. It’s seconds to pull a trigger, and we have no weapons.

Denver taps my shoulder visibly and climbs into my lap, her back to my chest. Hard, cool metal presses into my stomach.

My love for this woman knows no bounds, and there’s something extremely sexy about a woman who has a gun tucked into the back of her panties.

“Are you here to apologize, Wilder?” she asks sweetly, settling into my chest comfortably, her smile sweet. “For wasting so much of my husband’s time.”

She is getting fucked so hard after this is over.

Her phone starts ringing. The phone Wilder thinks is mine. Denver leans forward, her shirt riding up, revealing the gun.

“Oh,” she says. “I think that’s for you, Wilder.”

My gaze flicks to the screen.

It saysCOLT HARLANDcalling.

Wilder stares at the phone, temporarily frozen by his brother’s name. His brother calling me, or so he thinks. Betrayal stalls him. Confuses him.

I pull the gun from Denver’s underwear, and she throws herself from the chair.

The first bullet hits the man behind Wilder. Blood sprays across the bookshelves as he jerks back.

The second bullet fired hits me. White hot pain bursts through my muscles, and my shoulder jolts back, but I keep the gun raised and fire twice more at the other men. Wilder ducks, darting toward the door as another of his men enters the room, pulling his gun from his jacket. It’s aimed at me before I can move.

“Think fucking twice,” Denver breathes.

She must have snatched up a gun from one of the fallen men, and now it’s pressed into the man’s temple.

Her shoulders rise and fall rapidly, her hand steady but her eyes wide.

I hear Cal’s shouts from beyond the office.

“Denver,” I say softly. “You don’t have to.”

She doesn’t move her attention from the man. His hands are up, his jaw tight, likely accepting his death. He won’t be missed. She’ll never know his name. He was going to kill me and still would if he could.

I step around the desk, wrapping my hand around Denver’s gun-holding hand. I kiss her temple. “You don’t have to.”

She relaxes her arm as I pull her to me. I shoot the man through the temple, and she jumps at the sound, pressing her face into my shirt.

Her chest jerks with silent sobs, but no tears fall when I cup her face. “Are you okay?”

She nods quickly. “You’re bleeding.”

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