Page 106 of The Protection Agreement

“Go check on Smith. And the girl?”

“Smith is sedated. Nurses couldn’t get him to shut up otherwise.” We share a dark laugh. “The lady is locked in the basement, waiting for you.” He quietly states

“Keep her there. I’m not leaving Jola’s side.” I state

“I can take over. Nurse said she’ll be out for hours.”

“I’m. Not. Leaving.” Each word lands with controlled intensity . “She knows I’m here. I promised her I wouldn’t leave.”

Ice backs down immediately.

“Go home. Rest,” I add.

“Hell no. You stay, she stays, I stay. Those fuckers might come back. One got away,” he says, frustration sharp in his voice.

“They’re all dead,” I reply, voice turning colder. “I shot the last one myself. Smith got two. You got the rest.”

I exhale slowly.

“They came for her. They didn’t plan for Smith. They didn’t expect her to fight back.”

“Thank God for Smith’s instincts. He knew something was wrong right away. Told me to stay put while he got the car from the back. Said he’d bring it around instead of us walking out together. They spotted him and had to attack from the front.”

“Smith’s gut saved her life,” I say quietly, my throat tightening as I remember him throwing himself over her and taking the bullet meant for her.

“Rest, Ice. Chair reclines.” I say

He collapses into it, eyes shutting almost instantly.

I pull out my phone and dial Grayson.

That girl stays locked down tight. Nobody speaks to her until I get there. Nobody.

My hand stays locked with Jola’s. I cannot lose her.

Chapter sixty-three

Lexi/Jola

I open my eyes to the bright light in the room, making me squint a bit. Ice is asleep on the recliner. Bruce’s hand is interlaced with my left hand. I move my right hand and run it through his hair. He raises his head and smiles at me. A smile worth waking up to.

“Hello sprinkles,” his voice is raw, and I feel warmth all over my weak body. He squeezes my hand, and I make an effort to squeeze him back.

“Hi, Mr. Darcy, sorry I scared you,” I croak.

“You are here and not wounded is all that matters to me,” he says, though his eyes show a deep sense of relief. He kisses my forehead.

“How long have I been out?”

He looks at his watch. “Eighteen hours, twelve minutes,” he answers.

“You clocked it exactly?”

“Yep, I needed to know so they can’t tell me any BS. How do you feel?” he asks. I hear a hint of fear in there too.

“Like I hit my head on a rock,” I answer. My head still throbs.

“You did hit your head on rusty metal. Should I get them to give you something for the pain?”