Dane

By the time Dane made it up the stairs to his office he was sweating from the workout, and trembling from the memories. He never dredged up those memories, not even with Chris, though they often went unspoken. The brothers could catch eyes and know. But still, to talk about them, to reference. To mention loss. To make it real again.

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Images flashed in his mind, fragments of memories—smiling, laughter, warmth in his chest, in his arms. A sense of belonging…but always, always shadowed by the dark. The screams, thuds, spitting rage, the bruises.

For a moment he was lost in the day when he'd been ten and broken. Sitting on the floor of his closet, trembling, just like he was now, jumping every time the screaming of his parents reached him through the wall. Then the thud, thud, thud, broken by screams, and pleading. And he'd just sat there . . .

Dane leaned his elbows on his desk and held his head as shudders wracked his body.

He wasn't that kid anymore. He wasn't helpless anymore. And the man who'd terrified them might still walk this earth, but he wasn't here. And he'd never step foot in any place where Dane had something to say about it.

Never.

No.

Dane shook his head and blew out a shaky breath. He wasn't going to do this. He wasn't going back down that road. He was in charge now, not his father. And he—Dane—would never lay a hand on a woman in violence. He did the opposite. He helped women. Saved them. Protected them.

A small voice whispered in the back of his head…

Maybe you help them now...

But he ignored it. He was Dane Daniels. He didn't heave like a child. He didn't cry. And he didn't need a gun or a security system to feel safe. He could take care of himself—and others. And no matter what questions he was asked, he was never doing that again. Never using his past to explain himself. If they needed him to, well tough shit. He was done.

He wondered briefly if his father was watching, had seen the story. He'd know what Dane was speaking about.

Would it make him smile?

Dane cursed and shook his head. What had he done? How had he been bewitched into thinking that was the way to deal with this? Putting all that out there like it was important. Like it mattered anymore. He clenched his jaw and growled in his throat.

It didn't matter what Delilah said, he was never doing that again. And if there were questions to field after that, well, she could be the one to handle them. He wasn't speaking to anymore reporters. And if the staff gave him one look of pity he was firing Delilah Farris.

Shaking his hands out and getting to his feet, Dane paced back and forth until his breathing was back under control. He had to get out of here, away from anyone who might ask about what he'd said. He'd go home and read. Or something.

With a glance at his watch, he scowled. He'd been sitting here like a useless idiot for far too long. The press conference would be ending. Which meant he was leaving now.

He was the boss. He could take the rest of the day off if he wanted to. Fuck them.

With quick, efficient movements, he packed up his laptop and papers in a briefcase and grabbed his jacket. As he strode down the hall, past the conference room, the big television was on, showing Chris still talking. Dane took a deep breath of relief. He would be out of here before they were done.

But as he walked into the reception, one of the elevators dinged and Delilah walked out. Her eyes lit up when they landed on him and he froze.

"Oh, I'm so glad I caught you alone!" she gushed, hurrying across the space between them before Dane could think straight. He hadn't noticed the red suit she was wearing earlier. It nipped in at her waist in a way that would normally have held his attention. "You were amazing! Just…amazing, Dane. I mean it. That's going to be such a—"

"Sorry, Delilah," he said past clenched teeth. "I have to get to my car." He started walking without saying more, but she just bobbed along next to him. His shoulders crept up closer to his ears.

"I'll walk you down," she babbled happily. "I wanted to run a couple ideas past you."

"That won't be necessary," he muttered, heading for the stairs. But she didn't hear him and just followed along as he shoved the door open and started trotting down the two flights of stairs to the parking level.

"I've already had texts from that reporter friend of mine that I spoke to yesterday. He wasn't at the conference—they sent an intern, I don't know what they were thinking—but he wants to know if we can arrange an interview. I think it would be a great opportunity—"

"No."

"I know you don't like interviews, and we definitely won't go overboard, but your story, Dane, it was so riveting, and—"

He whirled around so quickly she ran into him, but he didn't catch her, just let her bounce off his chest and apologize as she found her feet. When she straightened they were eye-to-eye, even though he was two stairs below her. Her eyes went wide, registering for the first time that he was livid. But he also wasn't yelling. Yet.

He deserved a fucking trophy.

"No interviews," he ground out. "No stories. Nothing. No more. That was it. I did what you asked. Do not…don't ask it of me again. The answer will always be no."

Her brows pinched over her nose. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

His nostrils flared, but he was determined to end this without shouting at her. He'd been manipulated, but that was his fault. He fell for it. He wouldn't make her pay for that. Unless she pushed.

She had better not fucking push today.

Then her hand landed on his bicep, soft and warm. "Dane, I'm sorry, I didn't realize…we can talk about this tomorrow—"

"No," he snapped, then closed his eyes and took a breath before continuing. "No. There's nothing to speak about. There won't be any more from me. You and Chris will handle everything from here. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but—"

"For god's sake, woman, do you ever stop talking?" he roared. His voice echoed up and down through the stairwell.

Delilah looked shocked and for the first time since she'd arrived, now—now—was the moment she pulled back, jerked away from him as if he might harm her. It made his stomach sink—which just made him angrier.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, high spots of color on her cheeks. "I know I pushed a lot yesterday. I'm sorry. I'll stop."

With another shuddering breath, he nodded once. "I'm leaving for the day. Do not contact me unless it's truly an emergency."

She nodded quickly. "I won't. And I'll tell the team—"

"Good." He turned on his heel and started down the final stairs, hating himself, but unable to hold her wide, liquid gaze another second longer.