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“Tempting offer.” His husky tone made me think his idea of sparring was very different from mine.

I continued stitching and was surprised that my work didn’t look too bad. It’d be a shame to mar such a beautiful bicep, so I tried to be as neat as possible. The only sign of Brandon’s discomfort was his tense jaw.

“Have you always been so violent?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“But I asked first.” He smirked, mirroring my words after the encounter with Dante and the Russian at my apartment.

“No.” I blinked and thought about how best to approach this topic. “I wasn’t always so…capable. I guess knowing there are assholes like Dante and Maxim in this city, I became a little obsessed with being able to defend myself. I didn’t want to become a victim.”Again.“So I learned how to use a pistol. Also took up Thai boxing and trained hard so I could fight back without hesitating. Turns out those skills still weren’t enough to help me when it mattered.”

“One woman against two armed gangsters is hardly a fair fight. Even I’d be nervous about taking on Maxim. It’s a miracle he left you with no broken bones.” Brandon’s veined forearm rested on my thigh. My skin tingled every time he shifted position. “The week you spent working at the club. Did anyone hurt you?” Our eyes met, and Brandon’s were intense. “If they did and are still alive, I need to know.”

I pulled the thread through and paused with the needle in my hand. “And what would you do to them?”

He remained unblinking. “After what went down tonight, do you really need to ask?”

Brandon would…he would kill them for hurting me? His words shouldn’t excite me, but they did.

“You can rest easy,” I said. “There were plenty of assholes at the club, but nothing I couldn’t handle. A few grabby hands and vile comments. Dante and the Russian hinted at asking me to do something out of my comfort zone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure. I was supposed to stick around after my shift and wait for them. That’s all they said. Why? Do you think they’re connected to your sister’s disappearance?”

“That’s what I want to find out.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Keep stitching and I’ll tell you.”

I hadn’t realized I’d stopped.

“I’d been planning on going undercover, working my way into the Mafia, and finding more leads from within the organization. That’s not a viable option anymore, so I’ll come up with a new plan.”

My gaze shot to his. “God, I’m sorry, Brandon. You gave up your plan to help me?” I shook my head. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

I finished the last suture and snipped the excess thread. I set the needle and scissors on the counter.

“I wasn’t going to wait around in case you went missing, too.” Brandon admired my handiwork and gave a nod. “Not bad. Thank you.”

“Pretty sure it’s the least I can do.” I curled my hair behind my ears. “Taking on a building full of mobsters and abandoning your undercover plans aren’t small favors. I don’t understand why you’d risk your sister’s investigation and your life to help me. I’m no one to you.”

Brandon turned so we were face-to-face. His body edged closer until his hips were between my thighs. There wasn’t a hint of cockiness in his expression as he stared deep into my eyes. I struggled to draw air into my lungs.

“You may not know me well, but understand this. I’m not the kind of man to sit idle while an innocent woman is in danger. I don’t care if it’s a personal risk to me. I don’t care that I mean nothing to you. I’ll still fight to protect you because it’s the right thing to do.” One large warm hand cupped my jaw. “Make no mistake, I’d have killed every one of Dante’s men and torn that club apart brick by brick to get you out of there.”

One time at a party, Kieran had shoved a guy who’d grabbed my ass. That was the extent of my experience with being defended—until I’d met Brandon. His version of protectiveness was a little unsettling, but something about it caused warmth to spread through me.

My breaths came fast, and my belly tumbled over the edge of a skyscraper. Why was he saying these things? Why did he care so much?

“Sage”—he shook his head—“you shouldn’t look at me like that.” His voice dropped an octave and echoed off the marble tiles.

“Like what?” The words were barely a whisper.

“Like if I kiss you right now, you won’t push me away.” His thumb traced lazy circles over the apple of my cheek. “Like if I carry you to the bed, strip you naked, and put my mouth on all the places I’ve been dreaming about, you won’t stop me.”

My core turned to wildfire. No one had ever spoken to me that way before. Not even close. “You’re wrong.” At least, I hoped he was.