Page 15 of Freeing Denver

When he steps into view from a door beyond the bar, I almost run in the opposite direction.

Most men see Ranger as power. It exudes from him—his voice, his presence, his eyes, his words. He carefully crafted that reputation not only with his actions, but with expensive suits and timepieces that cost more than people would spend on a car. Everything about Ranger Luxe screams power. It always has.

But now, he’s … a man.

Dressed in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt, the man I married looks uncertain as he steps into the room, but when he spots us, the expression is swept away and replaced with his usual strength and darkness. He lifts his chin, straightens his shoulders, and becomes Ranger Luxe in a matter of seconds.

“What’s this?” he asks, arching a brow, but his indifference is fake.

“I asked Denver to come over,” Axel says. “She told me everything.”

Ranger blinks slowly, as if bored. “Did she.” It isn’t a question—closer to a disinterested statement. “I bet that was an interesting one-sided conversation.”

“About you stealing my son and then trying to kill us?” I challenge softly, unwilling to rise to the anger that desperately wants to burst free. He pins me with a stare, but I don’t falter. “Is any part of that a lie, Ranger?”

He doesn’t get the chance to answer. The elevator doors open again, and Alistair Chase strides into the room with confidence he shouldn’t have.

“Ah,” Ranger almost purrs, his smile sardonic. “Brought one of your McEwans. Or are you a Harland, Alistair? I can’t keep up.”

Alistair gives Ranger the same attention he gives me. Very little.

“Are we having this conversation or not?” Alistair asks.

“Conversation?” Ranger looks wildly amused now. “Oh, little bird, do you need a favor from me?”

“Dad.” Axel’s voice is cutting, one I’ve never heard from him, and Ranger reins in his bitter delight. My gaze darts between them, confusion pulling my brows together, because not only is Axel talking back to Ranger—but Ranger is listening.

Another tactic.

Manipulation.

That’s all it is.

“Well,” Ranger says decisively. “Let’s sit.”

We go to the living area. Axel sits, and so does Ranger, the latter looking far too relaxed. He’s dressed casually, but he may as well be in a ten-thousand-dollar suit and holding all the cards.

I stand by the television, arms folded. Alistair, thankfully, doesn’t stand by my side. Ranger would see that as an attack and dig his heels in.

“I’m going to cut to the chase,” Alistair says, dipping his hands into his pockets. “Denver is temporarily taking over the McEwan family. Her link to that is you. I need you to support her, vocally, and I need you to sort your shit out, too. You’re losing grip, and it needs to stop. People are talking.”

Axel sighs. Lewis does, too.

This is not how you get anything from Ranger Luxe.

Ranger rests his arm on the back of the couch. “Please, continue insulting me while asking me to save your livelihood. It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.”

Alistair tilts his head as if considering pulling his gun.

I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “Someone get out a measuring tape. I think the boys here want to compare.” Lewis snorts out a laugh. Axel cringes. Taf looks a little giddy. “Alistair, go and wait downstairs.”

“Yes, Alistair, be a good boy,” Ranger chimes in.

I cut him a heated glare. “And you shut up. You’re in no fucking position to act how you are.”

“Careful, little bird?—”

“I am not yourlittle bird,” I hiss. “You do not threaten, you do not gloat, or mock, or joke. You keep your fucking mouth shut until we’re alone.” Had the last few months not happened, Ranger would have me against the wall, whispering threats and promises to make me come for my attitude. I’d have succumbed, as always, but so much has changed. I’ve changed. I look at Alistair. “Go downstairs or go home.”