Page 60 of Under Fire

Fuck.

“Let’s go.” He turned, marching toward the door.

After yanking it open and turning to usher her through, he kept his face emotionless as she walked past, chewing on her glistening lip as she was probably trying to see through his armor. The only thing Alisa didn’t know yet was that his steel was impenetrable. No one got in.

Because five years before, he’d thrown away the key.

Chapter Twenty-One

Alisa

“Oh, thank you,” Alisa said as she received a glass of fizzing champagne.

The server nodded curtly before moving with his tray to the other partygoers.

Feeling out of place, she stood apart from Warren in the lush garden. As beautiful as the wedding ceremony had been, it hadn’t been a pleasurable experience. Maybe it was the bride, reminding Alisa of how close she’d come to marrying Dean, or maybe it was Warren, reminding her how unsettled everything still was. He had been so hostile with her since they’d left his house.

She sipped the golden bubbly in her flute, trying to calm her nerves, as she watched a seemingly relaxed Warren chat with the men in his crew like nothing had happened the night prior—like she wasn’t melting in anxiety on the verge of a breakdown. Absolutely terrified. Alone.

Isolated.

Warren was right in front of her but a thousand miles away, all day giving her nothing but one-word replies. For a man who’d once drawn a deep, intimate passion from her, he was making her feel like she didn’t belong with him.

Alone among a sea of strangers grouped together after the wedding, she waited impatiently for the dinner to take place in the upscale Southern California hotel that had a beautiful view of the Pacific Ocean. Truly, the whole thing was picturesque, like the bride had clipped the experience from a highlight reel. Alisa chewed her lip, looking around—knowing she should be enjoying the moment more and spending less time worrying about the flipping sensation in her tummy.

It didn’t help that her phone had vibrated too many times with messages from Dean. She pulled out her cell, looking at the latest threatening tirade. He promised he was going to find her.

She examined her situation, the rising frustration at her fate. The only person she wanted to talk to was someone who could tell her when she could go back to her apartment so she could try to salvage anything she could—or someone who could tell her what the hell had happened in the first place. Playing nervously with her lower lip, running it along the flute, she felt a shadow loom over her.

She gazed up, sinking back under Warren’s ferocious glare. His blue eyes had hardened to stone, driving chills up her spine.

“Don’t answer him,” he said.

“I’m not.”

He reached out, plucking her cell from her fingers, turned it off and shoved it in his suit pocket…unapologetic. She parted her lips to argue, but he gave her a ‘don’t fuck with me’ look, halting her.

“Are you the only person allowed to make calls?” she asked.

“Who do you need to call?”

“Maybe the cop from yesterday,” she supposed. “Maybe I need answers.”

He cut her off. “I’m handling that.”

“Care to share, then?”

“No.”

She nearly dropped the flute and her clutch at once. “Warren.”

“Leave it with me,” he said.

“This ismylife.”

Her gaze flitted around, only to then give him a certain stare when she was sure no wedding guest was watching them in their little corner of the garden.

“Alisa, I’m not playing games today,” he snapped, eyes narrowing on her.

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