Page 227 of The Grand Duel

“They hurt her.”

“I know.” His nostrils flare, his eyes promising me that he knows. “You good, my friend?”

I sniff, blinking, and then I nod.

He nods and steps back, walking me to the car.

FORTY-TWO

Charlie

Nina follows us home in the Bentley and not to the penthouse. I’m not sure how Mason knows without asking where to take me, but I appreciate it.

We don’t speak on the drive, a silence settling between us that I need to sit in.

Even my head is quiet.

When we pull up to the cottage, I turn to him, finding his eyes assessing, maybe not as certain as I am that I’m okay.

“Tell Ellis and Ave that I’ll be out to see them tomorrow.”

He nods, and I climb from the car. Before my door can click shut, another one slams and then two arms wrap around my body.

Nina.

When she pulls back, her eyes scouring every inch of me like a mother would their child, she sighs, shaking her head. “Don’t you ever do anything so stupid again, Charlie Aldridge. You’ll put me in an early grave.”

“I’m sorry.” I look down at her swollen stomach. “I wasn’t thinking when I called.”

She frowns. “I’m not mad at you for calling, you stupid idiot. I’m mad at you for putting yourself and your career in danger.” She looks at me, exasperated. “You think I’m mad you called us?”

I gaze past her shoulder when Mason steps up beside her, a small smile on his lips. “Angel, he knows.”

She turns, her shoulders dropping when she meets her husband’s gaze.

“Come watch the sunrise with me,” he tells her.

She looks back over her shoulder, her worried stare plaguing her. “You’re bleeding.” She points to my hand. “Do you need help?”

I shake my head. “I can sort it.” I lean in and kiss her head. “Thank you,” I mutter against her hair, meaning my every word.

Because Nina was only ever meant to be a girl in the club to us—Elliot, Mase, and me—but she’s not that at all. Not anymore. Time has made her essential to every single one of us.

I value her friendship as much as I do Mason’s.

As much as I would a sister.

I walk to the front door as they disappear from the driveway, knowing that when I step over the threshold, I’m going to have some explaining to do.

Lissie is still asleep when I walk into the lounge, the fire burnt down but glowing red, kicking out just enough heat.

With my hand a bloody mess and my shin on fire, I quietly take the stairs and slip into the shower, washing the night from my body.

I’ve sat across tables from men like me. Men who have broken and destroyed things in a way to cope with what they deem unjust.

It’s not right.

It’s not okay or the answer.