“That’s our cue. Follow me.”
Clayton started for the west side of the stage, and once again, the crowd around them parted as if the man were the Second Coming. Barely resisting an eye roll, Brody fell in line behind Ro, keeping mere inches between them to prevent a possible separation.
Bringing his left hand to his ear, he pressed the tiny receiver hidden there to reactivate his mic. “We’re on the move,” he informed the rest of his team.
“Copy that,” Christian responded immediately.
The rest of the team checked in, as well.
Upon Brody’s request, all five of the other Delta men were in attendance. Each one had been strategically scattered throughout the expansive event center. It was the one, non-negotiable condition of Ro’s attendance at to night’s soiree.
Either Delta Team was in charge of the party’s security or she didn’t go. Period.
Ro had agreed surprisingly fast, and Yorke hadn’t so much as flinched at the demand. The guy had even gone so far as voluntarily offering up the names on his guest list, as well as those from his own personal staff who were in attendance.
He, Christian, Rocky, and the others had dressed for the occasion, making it easy to blend in with the rest of the crowd. But what the other guests didn’t know—what they couldn’t possibly see—was that Brody and the rest of Delta were armed to the teeth beneath their well-pressed suits and ties.
Beneath his polished exterior, Brody had a Glock 19 pistol tucked in his side holster, a Sig Sauer P226 9mm in an S.O.B.—or small-of-back holster—and a KelTec P3AT pistol at his ankle.
All three weapons had their mags full and one in the chamber. And in case those weren’t enough, Brody had also strapped on his trusted Hogue tactical knife with a button flipper and spear point blade.
Christian, Rocky, Cade, Liam, and Jagger were just as prepared as him.
Only thing better would be if we could walk out those doors right now and forget all about Clayton Fucking Yorke.
The thought had Brody stealing a quick, indiscernible glance at the woman walking before him. His heart kicked and his dick twitched. From the front, Ro looked indescribably beautiful in that dress.
But seeing her from this angle…
Holy. Hell.
“Okay, then.” Yorke’s annoying voice tore Brody from his thoughts. “You’re welcome to wait with the other guests, if you’d like.”
He lifted his gaze slowly, refusing to let the other man think he gave two shits about being caught checking out Ro’s sexy ass. Keeping his voice flat, he told the asshat, “I’m good here, thanks.”
Those narrow eyes slid to Ro’s. Yorke’s scruff-framed lips curved into a smirk Brody wanted to wipe clean off. “You know, Aurora, if your boyfriend is that concerned about you, he could always join you on stage.” He turned his gaze back to Brody’s. “Oh wait. I forgot. You told me you two were just friends.”
“We are,” Ro jumped in nervously.
Brody wasn’t nervous. He was fed up.
Stepping just inside Yorke’s personal space, he put on his own fake as fuck smile and kept his voice low enough only Ro and her shithead client could hear. “Friend, boyfriend, bodyguard…I’ll be whateverRoneeds me to be.”
Another sharp inhale from beside him said she’d heard what he’d said loud and clear. As for Yorke…
“Message received.” That camera-ready grin never wavered. To Ro, Yorke held out his arm with a polished, “Shall we?”
Brody swung his gaze to Ro, who was staring up at him with an almost hopeful expression. And as she curled her fingers around the other man’s elbow, she let her eyes linger on his a moment longer, even after the two had begun making their way toward the steps.
“Boyfriend?” Christian’s voice filled his ear. “There something you want to share with the rest of the class, King?”
“Nope.”
That was it. That was all he gave. Lucky for him, his friend didn’t push.
Christian would, though. Later. Of that, Brody had no doubt. But right now, they were all in mission-mode, and given the uneasy feeling swirling around inside his gut, he was damn thankful to know they were here.
Brody surveilled the low-lit room with an expert eye before returning his focus to Ro. Yorke had just taken the stage to another, louder eruption of applause, but his eyes were locked on the woman waiting at the bottom of the stairs.