Page 63 of Quiet Protector
When I turn Kwan’s weapon back on him, four are focused on me. Henry’s goons are as big as Kwan, and their guns are just as powerful.
There are many ways to get out of a gun battle alive, but they don’t usually involve a second hostage. Since I can’t risk Melody catching a wayward bullet, I don’t take down the threat as I’ve been taught. Instead, I unload the magazine from Kwan’s gun onto the dining table I’m waking up on, then remove the spare out of the chamber.
After skidding the gun across the floor, putting a good six or so feet between it and its owner, Henry signals for his men to stand down. He’s seated at the end of the table, acting as regal as a king.
I guess he can gloat since years of investigations haven’t slanted his crown.
“What do you want?” When Henry drifts his desolate, yet oddly possessive eyes to Melody, I shake my head. “She’s not up for negotiation.”
“I’m not here to negotiate.” Melody forcefully swallows when Henry stands to his feet, exposing I wasn’t out long enough for him to disclose they’re related. She isn’t acting as if her blood is standing across from her. “I want to know why you haven’t told her who I am.”
Melody’s eyes snap to mine when I answer, “The timing hasn’t been right.” I can see a million questions in her eyes, but since she’s fearful about what my answers will be, she remains quiet. “I’ll tell her… just not yet.”
Henry slants his head, his brow cocking. “Does the ill-timing have anything to do with her visit to Saugerties PD earlier today?”
My lips twitch, preparing to answer, but before I can, Melody beats me to it. “I’m standing right here, so if you have something you want to know about me, why don’t you ask me?”
When Henry smiles, so do his goons. “Such spark. You’re very much like your mother.”
Red dots line my chest when he attempts to touch Melody’s face. I grabbed his wrist before his hand could get anywhere near Melody’s cheek, soundlessly warning him I’d rather die than have her touched without permission again.
Although frustrated by my protectiveness of Melody, Henry also seems pleased by it. “If only you had gotten more of your father’s blood, then perhaps we could have put your skills to good use. Alas…” as he twists his lips, he shrugs, “… you prefer playing on the wrong side of the law.” He once again signals for his men to stand down before he takes a step back from Melody, thinning the solidified blood coursing through my veins. “The ranch will not be sold. It will remain in the Gottle name as it was meant to be.” After clicking his fingers two times, a blond man on his left hands Kwan a briefcase. “This should cover expenses until I’m long gone. If it doesn’t, you know where to find me.”
“Boss?” Kwan interrupts, his voice barely a squeak.
Henry blows air out of his nose. “Kwan would like to continue feeding Socks each evening. He has a weird fondness for him.” He drifts his eyes to me. “His daily visits will also ensure nounexpectedones occur.”
I nod, hearing his unvoiced words the clearest. If people believe this is Gottle turf, they won’t dare come here without Henry’s permission. Although I’d rather leave Melody’s protection up to me, I’ve done a piss-poor job of it in the past, so a little help wouldn’t go astray, even if it comes from the wrong side of the law.
Mistaking my head bob as me agreeing to his terms, Kwan snaps open the suitcase. Melody’s gasp fans my nape when bundles upon bundles of hundred-dollar bills are exposed. There would have to be over two million dollars stuffed into the case.
After slamming the case shut and placing it onto the dining table, Henry hands me a USB stick. “This will set it straight on what happened to your brother. Once you’ve watched it, destroy it.” The threat in his eyes turns deadly when he mutters, “Don’t make me come back here and tie up more loose ends.”
He glances at Melody for the quickest second before he spins on his heels and leaves. His men follow closely behind him, Kwan a little slower since he’s sporting a bullet.
Melody and I stand in silence for the next several minutes, only speaking once the sound of tires rolling over untouched land no longer fills our ears.
“What the fuck was that?” Melody’s voice reveals she’s on the verge of another terrifying panic attack. “That’s blood money.” She thrusts her hand at the suitcase Henry left as her chest heaves. “I can’t take that money. I’m an assistant district attorney for crying out loud, I can’t accept money from the head of the Mafia.” As she begins pacing, the color drains from her cheeks. “Do you know how that looks? It will make it seem as if I’m corrupt.”
“If you don’t accept it, no one will think you’re corrupt.”
She stops frozen to glare at me. “Exactly how do I reject his offer, BJ? Thanks for the bundle of cash, Mr. Gottle, mob boss of New York, but I don’t want your money. Here, take it back.”
I’m an ass for smiling, but I can’t help it. I forgot how cute she is when she’s angry.
“BJ… don’t… this isn’t funny.” With each word she speaks, her anger lessens. She must put her frustration into her fists because when she whacks me in the stomach, the air in my lungs evicts from the strength of her punch. “You shot a goon, got knocked out by another, then threatened to kill a mob boss if he so much as ran the back of his hand down my cheek. Now isnotthe time for laughter.”
My smile grows, loving that she heard my unvoiced threat, but when our eyes collide for the quickest second, the seriousness of our situation smacks back into me. “There are many ways we can handle this. But first, I need to disclose some things to you.”
“I don’t like the way you saiddisclosed. That didn’t sound like a gooddisclosed.”
As I guide her into the living room, I ask, “Do you remember the first night we slept together? When I said I needed to rock my hips up for just a second, and that it will hurt, but it won’t last long.” Melody looks as uncomfortable as I feel when she nods. “That’s kind of like this. It will hurt, but the pain won’t last long.”
While guiding her to the couch, I ponder on how to tell her the news. Should I rip it off like a band-aid, so it’s quick and fast or gently ease her into it.
I lose the chance to do either of those things when our trek to the sofa covered with a sheet has me veering Melody past the last family portrait taken of her family. Even without deducting the aura of arrogance that forever pumps out of Henry, the similarities between him and Liam are uncanny in this photo. If you added a decade of wariness onto Liam’s face, you could pretend he was Henry.
Even a woman bogged down with grief can’t deny their likeness. “He’s myactualuncle.” Melody shifts on her feet to face me. “Henry Gottle is my uncle.”
