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“You should have found a nice guy in art school,” I said. I pictured him. Some guy who didn’t have a tattoo on his hand and a prison record. A guy who would take her to the art galleries she liked and be nice in bed. A little boring, maybe, but at least she’d be safe.
She didn’t answer me. She didn’t agree. But she didn’t contradict me, either.
I led her inside. In the bedroom, I pulled off her clothes gently and gave her one of my t-shirts, and then I tucked her in. She had bruises on her hip, her shoulder, around the sprain on her wrist where she’d tried to break her fall as she fell down the stairs. Bruises on her knees, the soft flesh of her upper arms. I got in bed next to her and put my arm around her, gingerly, trying not to touch any of her bruises. She was asleep in minutes.
I wasn’t. I was awake.
He said it was a warning.
Three million. Call it an investment.
He said it was a warning.
You’re perfect.
I watched the darkness and listened to her breathe. Inside me, the fire blazed and the flames spiraled hotter, higher, higher.
Someone was going to burn.
Twenty-Two
Olivia
I woke up sore and aching and alone in the bed. I rolled over to see that there was morning sunlight coming through the window, muffled by dark gray clouds. The room was dim except for light coming from the walk-in closet, the door to which was open.
I ran a hand through my hair, over my face. My skin felt tender to the touch, the bruises slightly swollen. My ribs hurt and my wrist ached. I may have made a small sound, because there was movement from within the closet and Devon appeared in the doorway, his silhouette huge against the light.
“There’s aspirin and water on the table next to you,” he said.
I took the aspirin from the bedside table and swallowed it down, propping up my aching head. Still he stood, watching me.
“Are you okay?” he said.
I couldn’t see him clearly, but I could see he was dressed. And not in his usual style. He wore dress pants that were cut slim to his hips and legs and a button-down dress shirt that fit him like a second skin. As I watched he moved across the room toward me, lithe as a cat, and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I’m okay,” I said. “I’m just bruised.”
He bent down, and I realized he was putting on his shoes. I watched his profile. It was blank, impersonal. He’d driven at record speed to come get me last night, and he’d been frantic, but now he seemed almost distracted. His face, his body were shut down. We hadn’t had sex last night—understandable, considering how shaken and tired I’d been, but still. This was Devon. The man had a sex drive that could probably power most of California, at least—I hoped—when it came to me. But it hadn’t even been on the table. And suddenly, in the cloudy morning light, that gave me a twinge of alarm. When Devon looked at me with his green eyes full of pure lust, when he prowled over me and told me to spread my legs, at least I knew what he was thinking.
“Are you going somewhere?” I asked him.
He shoved on his other shoe. “I have work to do.”
My panic rose a notch. “What work?”
Still he didn’t look at me, his profile beautiful and impassive. “Don’t worry, Olivia.”
No. Oh, no. There was nothing guaranteed to make me worry more than the words don’t worry out of his mouth. “This has to do with me, doesn’t it? With last night.”
He finished with his shoe and put his hands on his thighs. For the first time he turned his head and looked at me. I’d never seen his eyes like that—flat and dead and unfeeling. Devon was a lot of things—complicated, secretive, passionate, tough, twisted, raunchy, sometimes funny—but one thing he wasn’t was cold. He could be impassive, playing it close, keeping his thoughts behind his eyes, but the thoughts were always there. He’d never just looked like they were frozen out of existence. Like there was nothing going on inside him at all.
“I’m not leaving you alone today,” he said, as if I hadn’t asked him a question. “It isn’t safe. I called my lawyer. He’s coming by to make sure you’re protected. His name is Ben.”
I frowned, picturing some old, bald man in a suit. Was I just a piece of business for his legal team to take care of? “Your lawyer?”
For the first time, a flicker of a smile touched the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t warm his expression, and then it was gone again. “He doesn’t look like a lawyer. No one would mess with him. He’ll be here in an hour. He has the code to the front door, so don’t freak out.”
I pulled my knees up under the covers and hugged them. I was wearing one of his t-shirts, and my body heat had brought out his scent in the fabric. Something about this conversation, about his whole demeanor, was terrifying me. “You promised,” I reminded him. “You said you wouldn’t hurt anyone. You promised me.”
