Burning Ivy (KORT, #1)

by Brandy Hynes

The elation resonating throughout the sprawling apartment and the man-child pileup on Ivy are endearing, but my wife needs to breathe, for Christ’s sake. And we’ve got other topics to discuss, whether she wants to or not. “All right, all right. Off!” I bark, shoving them all away while they howl and Ivy spurs them on with her giggles.

“We are well aware of how fierce you are, but … Jesus, Little Storm, I won’t be able to rest.”

“Okay, I’ll do it, under one condition.” “Name it,” Ty says far too quickly. Liam, Gage, and I share a dubious eye roll. Pushover. Rookie mistake with the Little Storm because in two seconds, she’s going to pummel him through that open door. “You all have to get one,” she says. And there it is. Decimation at its finest. He never saw it coming. “The fuck?” Gage spits, choking on his bourbon. Fucking hell. Fuel on the fire and providing the damn kindling. Morons. “Oh,” she shrieks, eyes wild and tempestuous, hands flailing, “let me get this straight. It’s okay to put a tracking device inside my body, but in my husband, who holds the same position, or in the men who have the coveted roles of our most essential counsel, it’s a what-the-fuck kind of idea? Well, there’s your damn answer, Big Guy.”

“I’ll do it,” he says so breezily that it’s as though he were volunteering to pick up groceries. Her brows knit in an odd marriage of skepticism and wonderment. She sets the wineglass on the counter with a swish. “You will?” “Would it help you sleep better, knowing if something bad happened, you could find me?”

She swallows and nods, so he shrugs, saying, “Then, yeah. Of course I would.”

“I’ll get one too.” Her eyes flit to mine, a single note of her grief splashing her cheek with a hitched inhale. “Really?” “Really.” My arms are still coiled around her, fingers skating over the nape of her neck and exposed skin on her hip. “I should have suggested it at the beginning. I love you, Ives. I need to know you’re safe, and I’m happy to give you that same peace of mind.” I carry her back to the couch to finish our discussion. Her breathing finally evens out as I snuggle her against me. Ty sighs. “I’m in.”

The Little Storm has already won this battle, and Gage knows it. He’s simply too prideful to concede. But the faster he does, the easier it will be to win the war of protecting her. What we all want. He hedges, so Ivy leans forward, elbows braced on her knees, fingers clasped, eyes on the Big Guy. “I’ll bake you whatever you want for a full month. No limit on requests, although I do have some new recipes stored up here.” She taps her index finger on her temple. “Every day? Anything I want?” His intrigue is comical. She’s not gifting him anything. She’s been baking up a storm in the wee hours of the night since Tom died, but this is for him, I guess. “Yep,” she says. “Any pastry, pie, cookie, or cake you can dream up. I’ll give it a go.” And just like that, his face softens into the putty her sweets-offering molded. He raises his glass in agreement, so Liam decks him in the shoulder, barking, “Now, who’s the fucking pussy? You sold your anonymity for goddamn pastries!”

Gage guzzles the last of his bourbon. “Doesn’t make me a pussy. It makes me shrewd. I’m the only one here who got something in return, dipshit. You gave it up for nothing.” We all know that’s not true. We caved for Ivy—her peace of mind and the consent to shroud her in an extra provision of protection—which is the opposite of nothing. But we’ll let the Big Guy have his win.

There have been times when we had to torture some scumbag to obtain life-saving information, that I’ve witnessed Ty wrestling—tamping down the demon who so wants to gain purchase over the compassion he fights to preserve. Every close encounter inflames his inner beast, so I try to keep him in roles that encourage his gentler side to shine. Ivy has a similar inner battle. I won’t allow her to make choices that will permit her demons to procure a part of her soul.

That’s why Ivy is perfect for me. She’s not afraid of fires. She sets her own. But I’ll gladly burn in Hell before I let my stormy angel become a devil too.

She spins, looming in the doorway, a diamond-and-sapphire-studded collar adorning her delicate neck. “Do you like it?”

“I’ve got you. Look at me, Ivanna.” I wait until she obeys with a timid bat of her lashes. “I’ve always got you. But nothing about you is weak. Those men were blown away by your genius, so there’s nothing to prove. You’ve been through so much. We just buried your father, Ives. Cut yourself a break.”

“I need you. To feel the weight of this around my neck tonight and know that even when you’re across the room, you’re holding me. You’ll carry me through—”

Ivy may be mine, on my leash, handing me control, but there’s no mistaking who holds all the power. It’s always been her.

“No harsher than a jigsaw puzzle, Johnathan. Psychological warfare is sharper than a sword if wielded at an unshielded psyche. But the difference between that and a blade is that mind games only penetrate if one allows them to. I did not.” You didn’t fucking break me.

“It convolutes boundaries, muddies the waters of power.” He sighs. “But what’s done is done. We linked your trials to test loyalty and see how well you could fare, separate from your husband.” It does not go unnoticed that the one in need of proving was me even though I had entered the marriage with no knowledge of any of this. He clears his throat, stroking his neatly trimmed gray beard. “What we found is, you both excelled apart, but also managed to unite when it all came crashing down, despite the devastation between you. We couldn’t have asked for more.”

My hands slice through the dank, musty air to gesture at my guys. “I have the best protection in the country. Unmatched. Eyes-never-shutting stress is nothing new—nothing I haven’t stared down the barrel of and fired at myself. And that expectant life, the weighty interruption, will someday be the knitting of KORT’s heirs apparent.” I swing my gaze to Wells as I add, “Two of them. I’m not afraid to be a woman at that table. I won’t shrink from all it means. Will you, Johnny?”

Second-in-command?” Slipping back into my leather chair, I answer, “Tytan Reynolds for the O’Reilly’s.”

“I will, but Mr. Reynolds will be my second-in-command.”

“That’s generally reserved for family.” I smile as serenely as possible, aware this may be as challenging to accept as their tolerance of a woman at the table. “And Ty is mine. I think we can all agree that blood isn’t always as thick as we’d like. Robert will have his place to shine. I am honored to work with him, but this is a new regime.” Jared measures the tension in the room with a quick sweep before settling on Wells. “And for the Cabrini camp?” “Liam Graves,”

“You won’t find anyone more adept at data mining than Mr. Graves, but my wife covered all other objections beautifully,” he adds, lacing our fingers, his thumb dusting over my wedding ring. “Good enough,” Jared replies, ignoring Luca’s glower. “Both are vetted and tried, so that’s an easy transfer. Anyone else we need to log?” “Yes. Gage Porter will work for us both as lead enforcer,” I supply. “Actually, all three will have dual access.”

“If that was all,” I continue, “this would be harder. But my father, Thomas Kingston, and my mother, Natasha Kingston—when you touched them, you tarnished any mercy I might have offered. I’ve thought about all the ways I could approach this.” I throw my hand out to the Big Guy, whose cruel grin could easily make a grown man piss himself. “Gage here enjoys severing digits and choking people on them. That’s probably especially entertaining with a dick, which neither of you has. That’s not a slight, simply an obstacle.”

“The local zoo, however, is willing to donate an alligator’s time. That feels the most fitting—to make it slow and agonizing. Maybe even keep you shackled, but let you try to run. Familiar?”

But I know I can speak for the guys when I say, tending to Ivy’s wounds has been the most harmonious weaving among us. The restorative cocoon we’ve enwrapped her in has fused us all tighter.

Ivy scrunches her lips into a rueful frown, but he wipes it away with a kiss on the cheek. “Best fucking cinnamon rolls I’ve ever had, Ivy. I’ll guard them with my life while you tend to Chief.” She laughs, leaning into his affection before pushing off toward me and discarding her apron. “They’re only that good because you’re a stellar baking partner.” Whirling back around, she wags a finger at him, adding with a stern set of her jaw, “Leave some for Liam and Ty. They’re taking a cheat day, so they’ll want their fill.” He stuffs one in his mouth with a muffled, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Something’s blooming.” I swoop her into my arms, nestling her against me with a whoop that surely transcends this twenty-seven-thousand-square-foot home. “Jesus Christ, baby. A baby. Fuck, I love you so much, Little Storm.” When I pull back to catch her gaze, her eyes are glossy, stilling me. “Oh, Ives. Are you happy? Unhappy?”

“I love you, and I want this baby. So much.” She wraps her arms over her stomach. “I just wish my dad were here. He would’ve …” “Yeah,” I agree, tugging her closer. “He would’ve been an amazing grandpa. In a way, he still will be. So much of who he was is in both of us. He’ll leave his mark on this child too.”

“What’s wrong with her?” I consider blowing him off, but the panic etched into his features is too thick. “Not wrong. She’s”—my mouth splits with an idiotic smile—“pregnant.” He scrubs a hand over his dazed face. “Pregnant. Thank fuck.” As he hauls me into a hug, he continues muttering, “I thought … I was so scared.” His voice rises with increasing excitement. “Congratulations, Chief. Jesus, I’m so happy for you guys. For us.” He pats me on the back and as he steps away with a firm grip on my shoulder, his jaw falls lax, as though he’s been handed the answers to all life’s mysteries. “I’m gonna be a goddamn uncle.” And with that epiphany, I’m forgotten. Liam sprints into the house, shouting expletives, while I guide Landry up to Ivy.

Liam must have gathered up Gage and Ty on the way in because all three are fussing over the mama-to-be. “Freckles! Holy shit! A miniature Freckles,” Ty bellows. Ivy’s voice is fainter, but filled with so much joy that it causes a crest of emotion to swell inside my chest. “Or a miniature Chief,” she counters. “Fuck, that could be fun too,” Liam says. “We get to boss this one around.” Ivy laughs. “That’s an angle I haven’t—” “Fuck that. I want a girl,” Gage barks in his gruff tenor.

Ivy is the first to speak, her tone a sweet warble. “Really?” “Yeah. Really?” Ty parrots. Gage grunts, and I can hear Liam quietly snickering at his discomfort, but he finally answers, “If anyone should be raising a woman, it’s Ivy. One branch without spoiled fruit.” There is no higher praise from Gage Porter.

Of course, the guys won’t let Ivy lift a finger. If the four of us were less doting under ordinary circumstances, I’d say that was a dead giveaway, but those who’ve been around us don’t tend to notice a difference. It’s Celeste who tracks the guys’ movements with a scrutinizing eye. She watches as they amble by, kissing Ivy’s hair or asking if she needs anything while she’s tucked inside my arms. I’m sure, to others, it begs a myriad of questions, but to the men who spent years merely existing, she’s the one who stoked the spark of life back into their lives. She’s the one who’s growing a new one now.

“Ty, Liam, and Gage are a huge part of me though. My family and more. My heart. It’s difficult to explain, but knowing you’d die for someone, wading through carnage together, and being a life preserver when they’re drowning in that bloodbath—it’s a bond that surpasses the traditional sense of family. We’re forever linked.”

“And they’d all die for you?” “Absolutely,” I reply with confidence. “And I would for them. Any of them.”

“He’s a dick sometimes, but we all have our demons. That’s how Liam masks his.” “Ty doesn’t seem to have any demons,” Rena muses, and I don’t miss the wistful flutter of her lashes. Ty’s demons are stashed away so deep behind his sweetness; I fear, one day, they’ll come roaring to life with a vengeance, but I don’t share that. Instead, I keep it vague. “None of us are unscathed. It’s the scars that bind us.”