The lights of his car pull away, and only then do I leave the doorway. Turning, I throw the roses with a bit more aggression than I should across the foyer table. Petals fall, and a stem snaps.
I feel better.
Maeve descends the stairs in a tight black dress, with dainty black heels and her black toenails peeking out. With long, thick strands and winged eyeliner, she is a fucking fallen angel on this lackluster planet.
My heart aches within my chest. Something it only does when in her presence.
She doesn’t look at me, which I expect after our conversation at The Wharf. She’s still mad I kept her away from Bruno.
Under normal circumstances, I would’ve loved to see her slice Bruno’s nose off his body and feed the fish in the harbor with his remains. But we can’t—not with assassins hunting her. If we kill a leader of a family, we’ll start a war we can’t win.
One day, she’ll learn that everything I fucking do is for her safety.
Rushing past me, she grabs her coat, and I jerk her back. The guards inside the foyer ignore us, keeping their eyes overhead.
“If you’re looking forReese, he’s already gone.”
She stops short, glancing over her shoulder at me. “What did you do?”
I don’t bother answering her. I could have done worse than simply scare him away.
In fact, I still might. I bet his blood is a pretty shade of red.
“He brought you roses,” I say instead, swinging her around. She shakes me off, cuddling them to her chest as if something precious. “Someboyfriend.”
“That was sweet,” she murmurs, holding them to her face. Inhaling, I notice the line between her brows, the puckering of her lips.
“Sweet?” I scoff. “Your mother loved roses. Youhatethem.”
“I don’thatethem,” she argues. She runs a finger over the petal, feeling its softness.
Grabbing them away, I toss them back onto the table. More petals fall, and it soothes the growing rage in my chest. Her inauthenticity—this person she tries to be around that piece of shit.
She tries to hide with him. She doesn’t want to be who she’s meant to be—a powerhouse in a dark world. Instead, she’ll use him as a shield, regress, hide, and pretend this life doesn’t exist.
Hide and pretend I don’t exist.
“You fuckinghatethem, Maeve. The smell gives you a headache. You prefer calla lilies. Purple ones. Almost black,” I recite from memory. “Second favorite? Orchid. Third? Violets.”
Rolling her eyes, Maeve crosses her arms. “I can like roses. You don’tknowme.”
Baring my teeth, I step closer, glaring into her gorgeous face. Fuck, she looks like a goddess, stepping down from heaven. It does nothing for the fury igniting in my veins, a vast hunger that wants to consume her.
“I don’t know you, Princess?” I growl. “I knoweverythingabout you. Your favorite flower. Favorite book. Your favorite movie.” Gesturing to the flowers, I say, “You can’t even say they’re your favorite color—you hate red. You love purple. Are you really going to argue with me about this shit?”
“People change, Linwood.” She shrugs, avoiding my eyes. “I can like roses now.”
“Really?” I laugh, voice dark. Looking to her guards, I jerk my chin. “Get out.” Before I do something they’ll feel compelled to stop, and then I’ll have two more bodies to clean up.
They exchange a look, but don’t move. They don’t know what to do—who to listen to.
“They don’t answer to you,” she says, voice tight. “They only follow me.”
“Good.” And I mean it. I want loyal men at her back—protecting her if I’m not here. But not right now.
Slipping the gun from my jeans, I point it at one guard. “Then you tell them to leave. Or I blow a bullet into their heads. Solves my problem either way.”
The air shifts, and she tenses. She’s not one to be told what to do, but she understands how close I am to breaking. She can read me as fucking easily as I can read her.
