Page 4 of Freeing Denver

“He’ll be back on his feet in no time,” I say.

Alexei taps his fingers on the table. “Do you know who did it?”

All eyes are on me. Except Denver’s.

“I have a few ideas,” I say. “But rest assured, it’s in hand.”

“And the McEwan businesses?” Alexei asks, brow raised. “Are they in hand, too?”

Denver leans back in her chair. “Yes. I’m handling them.”

Alexei’s lips twitch, his light eyes shining as if he knew she was going to say exactly that. Vince takes a sip of his drink. Everyone else, though, looks unamused.

“You?” Conor asks. “You’re not a McEwan.”

“No, but my husband is,” Denver says swiftly. “It isn’t exactly a family secret that Rory McEwan was …” She waves her hand. “Dabbling.”

A polite way of saying he cheated on his wife for years, and that affair led to Ranger being born.

“Then why isn’t Ranger here?” Conor asks, looking at me.

“Ranger is running his own businesses back west,” I say. If the fucker is even alive. We haven’t heard a damn thing from him. There was no body discovered in the remains of his oldfamily home, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t crawl away to die somewhere else.

“I have his guidance, along with Alistair’s,” Denver says. “And it’s only temporary until Ronan is able to work again.”

“If,” Conor says curtly. “I’ve heard he’s a long way from breathing on his own, let alone working. Or am I wrong, Deluxe?” He uses her name like an insult, and if Denver and I weren’t on the same side, I’d likely enjoy the moment.

“Yes, you’re wrong,” Denver says. Her tone isn’t sharp, but it is cool.

Conor leans forward, searching her face. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“I’m correcting your information.”

“Do it politely.”

The table is quiet. Vince is watching the interaction with a level of frustration, as if Denver is his to protect. Alexei looks mildly amused. Even I’m wondering how she’ll react to this kind of challenge so early on.

Denver sits up straight. “I respond with the energy I’m given. If you’re unhappy with that, I suggest next time, you do what we all wish you had and stayed home.”

For fuck’s sake.

Conor wets his lips. “You at the helm just proves to all of us that the McEwans are done for. Because let’s face it, if you’re anything like your mother, your skill set is better suited to fucking gangsters, not being one.”

Denver runs her tongue across her teeth. “Conor, I know speaking for yourself is a new concept given that Daddy isn’t here to hold your hand, but you’re supposed to respect your host.”

Alexei whistles in amusement, and Vince smirks.

Conor is on his feet and Denver’s eyes glint with amusement, observing him like a half-dead zebra stumbling into her territory. No, into her pride.

Because there are more men at this table who look willing to defend her than I thought there would be. Denver has clearly been doing some preparation of her own.

“Sit down, Conor,” Alexei says. “Denver’s right. Don’t give it if you can’t take it. That’s always been your damn problem.”

“Fuck you, Volkov,” Conor spits out.

He reaches for his gun, and now I speak. “Conor, draw your weapon in this house and you won’t leave it alive.” He bristles, his eyes darting to mine. “You all agreed to certain terms before walking through that door. We anticipate things can get heated, and the moment you step foot on the street, you can shoot who you like. But this”—I tap the table—“is a safe space. Colt has always maintained that, and I won’t allow it to unravel because you take criticism like a fucking three-year-old.” I tilt my head. “Now, please sit down.”

He deliberates over this for a few seconds before returning to his seat, sulking.