“I’m thinking Ladd and Jackson can handle it,” Bebe says thoughtfully as she stretches. “Kynan will have to sign off.”
“Will he?” Because I’m the new guy on the block, and although Kynan is cool as fuck and did me a solid, we’re talking—at the very least—breaking and entering to plant devices. Of course, anything we get won’t be admissible, but we only need enough to get the police interested.
Bebe nods. “Kynan will absolutely approve this. We take care of our own.”
My hand slips from Abby’s mouth, and she gazes up at me. I’m new to Jameson and she’s new to me, and yet, they’re considering us both part of the Jameson family.
And family takes care of each other.
CHAPTER 18
Abby
It’s been two days since Levi took Princess, in the process hitting and bruising me, and since Kellen returned to discover Levi’s handiwork.
I think Kellen has finally calmed down enough that I don’t have to remind him continually of the promise he made not to go after Hellman.
It’s helped that Bebe has reported to Kellen—who shared with me—that she’s getting some “good stuff” on the creep. That, more than anything, seemed to lessen Kellen’s anger from overflowing rage to a low simmer of fury. However, if those two cross paths, I’m not so sure he’ll be able to restrain himself.
Just last night, we were eating dinner at my table—Kellen is staying at my apartment until this is resolved—and he went off on a rant about Hellman.
“You never, ever strike a woman,” he snarled as he took in the bruise on my cheekbone. It’s fading nicely, now green with a tinge of yellow. “I don’t care what the circumstances are.”
I twirled spaghetti on my fork, and not to make light of anything but because I was truly curious, I asked, “What if a woman is coming at a man with a knife, trying to stab him?”
“He’d better fucking figure a way to defuse the situation without hitting her, or he better take off running and stay out of her reach.”
My fork paused halfway to my mouth as Kellen angrily stabbed at his salad. I know he was recalling with vivid clarity the video—he watched it at least four times—of Hellman striking me.
His gaze lifted with his fork—lettuce, cucumber, and a dangling red onion—held aloft as he stared at me staring at him.
“What?” he asked.
“You really mean that, don’t you? That a man should figure another way?”
“Always,” he said. “Men who hit women are pussies because it makes them feel better about themselves.”
I smiled at him with a flush of fondness and admiration. “I didn’t realize you were such a crusader against violence toward women.”
“I wasn’t,” he said, and I jolted in surprise. “Not until you got hit, then it suddenly became very important to me.”
Butterflies erupted in my stomach. It wasn’t just his words, but how he said them. As if I’m a revelation somehow. We went on to talk about the way he was raised—in a loving, secure, and nonviolent household—and that his father always drilled into him respect for women.
We talked about how my upbringing was very similar. Lots of love and security, yes, but there was also duty to our heritage and commitment to legacy.
Regardless, I had to admit, it was superhot that he wanted revenge for what Hellman did to me, though ultimately, I begged Kellen not to retaliate. I told him I understood his anger, and Hellman deserves it for sure, but I just couldn’t bear if anything happened to him.
That resulted in a one-way ticket from the table to the bed where Kellen showed me all the ways he’s possessively enamored with me. He’s a man who channels emotion through action, and let me just say, that’s not a bad thing.
Like now.
We’re on the dance floor, and I’m in his arms. We sway slowly, cocooned in each other, oblivious to everyone around us.
Griff and Bebe’s nuptials were beautiful, and I was surprised when she cried, which made me cry. To my astonishment, Kellen pulled out a pack of travel tissues and handed me one.
“Such a Boy Scout,” I murmured as I dabbed at my eyes.
Now it’s party time, and the huge ballroom is studded with tables that seat eight each, buffet tables loaded with amazing food, an open bar, and a pretty damn good DJ.
“Thank you for inviting me.” I tip my head and look up at Kellen. “I rarely get to put on a fancy dress.”
Kellen glances down at my jade-green strapless number. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful. I’m glad you came,” he says with a lopsided smile. “But I can’t wait to get you home and out of that dress.”
“We could sneak off to the unisex bathroom,” I suggest. I have to admit, Kellen can rock jeans and a sweatshirt, but Kellen in a dark suit has me hot and bothered. He’s got the total James Bond vibe going.