Page 70 of Prince of Control
Gabe Tracy looks angry. “You’re telling me this might be some kind of house hazing situation?”
I look straight back at him. “I’m telling you I will destroy whoever was behind this. No one hurts my friends.”
The corners of Black Shirt’s lips turn up for a moment, and then his face goes blank again.
“And Melinda is your friend.” It’s a question, but his voice doesn’t rise at the end.
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. You find who did this to my daughter and bring them to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’d better pray your stories match Melinda’s when she wakes up, or you’re right–I will annihilate all of you.” He gives all four of us the stink eye before waving his hand toward the door. “Now get out.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lara
I wake at one in the afternoon. I’m hungry, and the bed is cold. I climb out and look for Baron. I hear his phone buzzing with a text and see it’s still on the nightstand. He must still be up here.
A cool breeze wafts through the room, and I realize the window is half open. When I walk over to shut it, I see Baron sitting outside on the roof in his tank top and a pair of jeans, his arms loosely draped over his drawn-up knees.
I push the window open, and he turns. “Lara.” His gaze appears haunted.
I climb out onto the gently-pitched tile roof, and he instantly reaches his hand out to steady me. “Are you okay?” he asks when I sink down beside him.
“Yeah. Are you?”
For once, he doesn’t give me his slick, in-control, closed-off act. He draws a long breath and sighs it out. Then he nods. “I’m okay.” His words sound heavy, though.
“What are you doing out here?” I instantly regret the dumb question. He obviously wanted to be alone, and I’m interrupting.
He gives me a faint smile. “Working on my tan.”
“Your shirt’s on,” I point out.
“I can remedy that.” He reaches between his shoulder blades and smoothly pulls his shirt off over his head in a move so sexy I swear my ovaries drop three eggs.
“Are you worried?”
The strong leader returns, and I kick myself for asking the wrong question. I want him to open up and be vulnerable, not reassure me.
He shakes his head. “No. I’m going to find the fuckers who did this and fix it.” He speaks with total confidence, and I have zero doubt he will do it.
I look out at the view. I can see why Baron likes to come out here. We’re on the third floor–the height of treetops. Our window faces away from campus toward the neighborhood houses.
“Is this where you come to think?” I try again.
He interlaces his fingers with mine and brings my knuckles to his lips. “Yeah.”
“Am I interrupting?” I try to tell myself not to be hurt if he says yes, but my heart feels ripe and vulnerable. Like it would pop with a single pin-prick.
“Fuck, no.” He looks over at me. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”
My chest squeezes like he just tied a tight ribbon around the center. I want to believe him. It freaks me out how much I care. I find it hard to breathe.
“When they let me out of jail this morning and told me my wife was waiting for me, I–” Baron breaks off, his gaze roving over my face. “I can’t tell you what it meant to me. I couldn’t believe you came for me.”
