Rosie pulled a knife from the drawer. “Because murder is illegal.”

“I meant go out with him. Life would be a lot better for everyone around here. You know you want to.”

“What the hell do I need a man for? I have a hand, don’t I?”

“That is way more information than I need, Rosie. Seriously. I was talking about dinner.”

“Who are you to lecture me anyway?” Rosie said, her words broken up by the slice of her knife through potatoes. “Have you started sleeping with Mack yet?”

“Never going to happen.” Her libido made a sad face at her words.

“Why? Lord knows that if I had a man like that lusting after me, I’d be naked in five seconds flat.”

“Mack is not lusting after me.” Angry, tongue-tangling kissing aside, he’d made it very clear he was not interested. Which was good. Because she wasn’t interested either.

“What time is Thea dropping the girls off?”

“Noon.”

The ding of an incoming email sounded in her pocket. Liv pulled out her phone and clicked on the email.

Her heart sank.

“What’s wrong?” Rosie asked.

“It’s from the Parkway Hotel. They canceled my interview.”

“What? Just like that?”

Liv slammed her phone down. “It’s Royce. He’s blacklisting me.”

Her voice was stronger than she felt. Liv sat down on a stool tucked beneath the island and lowered her head onto her arms. “Put me out of my misery.”

Rosie patted her back. “This will pass, honey.”

The simple words were surprisingly soothing. Liv stood and leaned her head on Rosie’s shoulder. “Thanks. I needed that.”

Rosie rubbed a weathered knuckle down Liv’s cheek. “Anytime.”

Mack was fifteen minutes late for breakfast with the guys. He’d slept like shit, so he felt like shit, and judging by the silent, shocked expressions when he sat down at their regular table, he looked like shit too.

They stared at him with coffee mugs paused halfway to their mouths. “What?” he growled, turning over his own mug.

“Are you okay?” Gavin asked.

“Fine.”

“You didn’t shave,” Del said.

Mack dragged a hand along his whiskered jaw, wincing as his fingers found the tender spot where fist had met bone. “I woke up late.”

A waitress walked by and stopped to fill his mug. He remembered his sunglasses then, took them off, and set them on the table. Everyone exclaimed and sat back with a collective oh my God.

The Russian slapped a palm on his forehead. “Are you dying?”

Mack knocked his hand away. “What the fuck? No. I told you. I didn’t sleep well.”

“That is why you are ugly today?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he said.

The Russian shrugged. “I’m a hockey player.”

It actually did explain a lot. “I’m not ugly today. I’m tired.”

“You’re kind of ugly. It’s the eyes. Very red. Ugly.”

“Fuck off.”

“We’re just saying you don’t normally look this bad,” Malcolm said.

He flipped off the entire table.

Gavin shrugged. “I’m actually glad you look like shit. I want to be the pretty one for a change.”

“You’re still not the pretty one,” Mack said. “It’s Malcolm. He’s the pretty one now.”

“Knock it off,” Del said. “You’re both pretty.”

Mack picked up his menu, even though he knew it by heart, and hid his face behind it. Fuck them. They’d look like hell, too, if they’d experienced the most amazing kiss of their entire lives and then had the woman tell them it would never happen again before walking out.

“I invited someone else to join us today,” he said.

“Who?” Del asked.

As if on cue, the door opened, and in walked Hop.

Malcolm followed Mack’s point. “No shit,” he breathed.

“I wasn’t actually sure if he’d show up.”

Hop’s grizzled eyes scanned the busy dining room until he came upon their table. Mack lifted his hand in a wave. Hop scowled and limped over.

“No idea what I’m doing here,” he grumbled, dropping into an open chair.

“You remember everyone,” Mack said.

Hop gave a general nod. “Normally, we have a sort of orientation for new members, but we don’t really have time for that today,” Mack said. He slid a copy of The Protector across the table. “This is our current book.”

Hop stared at the cover without touching it. “I regret this already.”

“You’ll get the gist of it.”

The waitress appeared again then to take their orders. Mack flashed her a grin, and she ignored him. Damn. He really was ugly today.

After she left, Del leaned forward in that let’s get this shit started way of his. “Anyone do any more reading?”

“I did,” Gavin jumped in. “This book is seriously fucked up.”

“It’s your first romantic suspense,” Mack scowled, directing his annoyance over last night’s disaster at Gavin. “You can’t judge the entire book by a few chapters.”

“She hates him,” Gavin argued. “I may not have read as many romance novels as you guys, but that doesn’t seem like a great start to a relationship.”

“You have to keep reading. You can’t bash it until you’ve read more.”

“Let Gavin express his thoughts,” Del warned. “Every opinion is valid in this club.”

Gavin grinned. “Thank you, Del.”

Mack flipped him off.

Gavin returned the gesture.

Del sighed and mumbled, “I give up.”

“Anyway,” Gavin said, drawing out the way just enough to be annoying. “What I’m saying is you’re always talking about how romance novels are subversively feminist, but what’s feminist about a book where the woman has no say in her own security?”

“They’re doing what’s best for her for now,” Mack grumbled.

“Who is he to decide what’s best for her?” Gavin countered.

“But that’s the point of the book,” Mack argued. “Their journey is about learning to trust each other and overcome the adversity that the author establishes in the beginning.”

“But why write a book that puts a woman in that position to start with?”

“Maybe because shit like that happens in real life? Bad shit happens to women all the time, and it’s usually because men look the other way.”

“So it’s a metaphor?” Malcolm prompted, stroking his beard. “Interesting. I’ve never thought about it that way before.”

Mack shrugged. “I’m just saying that if we’re going to end violence against women, it’s up to us to do it. We have to get after our own.”

Hop groaned.

“Something to add, Hop?” Del asked.

“Yeah. Reading this shit has made you soft.” He picked up The Protector and turned it over.

“Or maybe your generation was too hard,” Mack said.

Hop bristled, and Malcolm stepped in to stave off his response. “What Mack is trying to say is that you’ve been raised to believe in a certain type of masculinity—”

“My brand of masculinity was crawling through the jungles of Vietnam, getting my ass shot off before you were born.”

“And we appreciate your service, but what we’re saying is that your brand of masculinity is tied to the inevitable degradation of women. And no one is the better for it.”

Hop rolled his eyes. “Political correctness.”

“What if someone made a sexual joke about Rosie?” Mack asked.

“I’d kill him.”

“You think that’s the right answer, but it’s not,” Mack said. “You shouldn’t have to care about a woman to recognize that the sexual degradation of all women is a problem. You should recognize that it’s wrong simply because they’re humans.”

Hop snorted.

“You don’t believe in equality among men and women?” Malcolm asked.

“Sure I do.”

Mack raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Hop started to tick off a laundry list. “I think women should get paid the same as men for the same jobs. I think women should have equal representation in Congress. And there better be a woman president before I die. But I also think we should be able to tell some fucking jokes.”

“Did it ever occur to you that the reason women don’t have equal pay or that no woman has ever been elected president is because when men get together they bond over these jokes?”

Hop shrugged.

“Can we get back to the book?” Gavin asked.

“Go ahead,” Malcolm said.

“It’s like she just, like, up and forgives him,” Gavin said. “I had to beg on my knees for a month just to get Thea to let me back in our bedroom.”

“I don’t think she forgave him,” Mack said. “I think she realized the reality of the situation and dealt with it. You’re missing the subtext.”

“Bullshit,” Gavin said.

Mack felt a vein pop near his temple. “This is different.”

“How?”

“You two going to let the rest of us get in on this?” Del asked.

Mack bit his tongue.

“I think her anger is justified,” Malcolm said. “But I don’t think she’s only mad about his actions. She feels like she has no control. She’s been at the mercy of men all her life. First her father. Then her Secret Service agents. Now this stalker and Chase’s lie. It’s a metaphor.”

“For what?” Derek asked.

Malcolm shrugged. “The suffocating ways that modern women are controlled without their consent every single day.”