That’s a complete sentence. That’s a total thought.
Cole taught me the power of that one word. He’s used it when I’m at my worst, when I’m fighting him, when I’m battling my own best interest. He doesn’t justify himself. He doesn’t explain. He just shuts me down.
“But—” Mam tries.
“No,” I say again, cutting her off.
“Katie—”
“No,” I say one more time. And I leave that stinking hellhole of a dining room, certain my husband will follow.
6
COLE
Iunderstood what I was taking on when I married Kaitlín Minola Lynch. Her father was an old-style mob boss, running his patch of Baltimore like a rigged slot machine, milking the city for every dime he could get. Nothing about Barry Lynch was noble or romantic or enlightened.
My marrying Kate was a simple business transaction. She was damaged goods—too loud, too crude, too angry. I put a ring on her finger, and Lynch paid me good money to run his computers.
It took me less than a week to realize Kate isn’t the stiff-necked witch I bargained for. Now, watching her tame her wicked temper, I’m nearly blinded with pride for my wife.
Jacobson hurries us back to our SUV as if he’s expecting an aerial bombardment. In less than a minute, our convoy is slicing through Baltimore streets, on our way to the interstate and home.
Kate already has her phone out. From a glance, I see she’s going after Ilya Danilov, digging up information on the bratva game piece. She snorts at something she finds. Sighs at something else. Snarls at another page before she tosses her phone onto the seat between us.
She spends the rest of the trip staring out the window.
I’m in foreign territory here. I’m Cole Wolf, CEO and president of Lone Wolf Enterprises. I’m the man in charge. I make the rules that everyone else follows. I’m the one in control.
But there’s nothing about the meal I just witnessed that I could control. I couldn’t heal Barry Lynch’s injured brain. I couldn’t order Ilya Danilov from the room. I couldn’t disrupt Orla Lynch’s disgusting plans.
I despise feeling powerless. Every single day of my childhood, I was a helpless pawn in Shannon’s cons. I’ve spent years building a domain where I’ll never be exposed like that again.
By the time we work our way through Georgetown, I know exactly what I need. Each city block ties down one more distraction in my brain. I shed all the things that don’t matter at this precise moment in time—Lynch, Danilov, Tarasov—and I reduce the world to one laser-sharp desire: Kate.
When we reach home, Jacobson navigates the new security, ferrying Kate and me directly to our front door. He says something about a three-sixty review, drilling down so we can maximize our core competencies for future firefighting.
“Do that,” I say, even though I know I won’t read a word of any report he prepares.
Kate precedes me into the house. She waits for me to close the door before she says, “I’m going to see what else I can find about Danilov.”
“Not this evening, you aren’t.”
“I need?—”
I turn on her, using my size to back her up to the door. “Youneedto do as you’re told.”
I watch her as I say it. There’s a moment when she’s angry, annoyed at being interrupted. But that flicker disappears like a blown-out candle. She swallows hard, her sculpted cheekbones suddenly hollowed by a thirst that has nothing to do with water.
Looking up at me through her lashes, she says, “What if I don’t want to?”
I catch her throat in the V between my index finger and thumb, forcing her head back to the polished mahogany door. Her breath hitches, and I feel her swallow, but she tosses her hair in the scant room I’ve left her.
She bites her lip before she asks, “What if I say no?”
That worked well enough for her in Baltimore. Butnodoesn’t stop me.Nodoesn’t work in this house. Kate has a safeword—red—and she knows exactly how to use it.
So I use my weight to trap her. I force my knee between her thighs. I tighten my grip on her throat and tilt her head to the angle I need before I savage her mouth.
