Page 138 of Desperate People

Too much noise.

And not nearly enough muscle between them and what’s mine.

This? This isn’t safe.

It isn’t even safe adjacent.

It’s a fucking disaster waiting to happen.

And I let her walk into it.

I clench my jaw so hard I feel the pressure in my molars. My hand tightens around the tablet I’m holding, but the numbers on the screen blur because all I can think about is her.

Lucy.

My Diamond Girl.

This setup? It’s a fucking nightmare.

I’ve been in war zones with less chaos.

Lights flashing.

Cables everywhere.

People shouting.

Techs adjusting reflectors.

Reporters trying to sneak photos from behind barricades.

I fire off a text to Connor:

Need backup. Call Josef’s people. Two full Sigma teams minimum. I want boots here in twenty.

-B

Washington Square might look artsy and relaxed on the surface, but there’s no mistaking the rising buzz just beyond the crew lines.

Word's out that Diablita—my wife—is on set.

Fucking fantastic.

My jaw ticks.

She’s in the hair and makeup tent right now, laughing softly with the stylist, oblivious to the dozen different ways this could go wrong.

I’ve already vetted everyone working today.

Hell, I even pulled background checks on the interns.

But still—I don’t like it.

Not one bit.

I roll my shoulders, the weight of last night’s conversation with Destiny Volkov pressing against me like a stone.

“I bet you think I’m just some shallow mom living through her daughter’s spotlight,” she said, glass of wine in hand, her sharp gaze pinning me to my seat.

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