He pulls on his cuffs. “Frigid cunt. You need to stay out of the cooler.”
I meet his eyes. “So should you.”
The innuendo isn’t lost on him.
Try this shit again, and you’ll end up in the cooler wearing a toe tag real quick.
“Crazy bitch,” he mutters.
He opens the back door and slams it shut behind him.
Relieved he’s gone, I check the automatic lock on the door.
Alone again.
But it doesn’t remove the reminder that the families are starting to get cocky. The boundaries I had in place are vicariously thinning, and I have to make sure that they know not to fuck with me. Because the moment they think they can, everything will fall apart.
32
LEONORE
It takes less than two minutes for the buzzer to ring again as I stand behind the reception desk, counting the cash.
Assuming it’s Cian, I stalk back to the door and rip it open, my scalpel ready to draw blood this time. “Listen, asshole, I thought I made myself very clear?—”
But it isn’t Cian standing on my doorstep.
It’s Silas.
His eyes drop to the scalpel pointed at his face.
One eyebrow shoots up, and then a dark cloud passes through his expression.
For a moment, we just stand here. Me in my scrubs, with a scalpel aimed at him. And him in a dark coat with his hands in his pockets, his demeanor cool and calm like he doesn’t have a sharp-as-fuck blade pointed at him.
“Interesting greeting,” he says.
I lower the scalpel. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“Clearly.” His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Who was it?”
“Nobody.”
“Nobody has you answering the door with a blade?”
“It’s a scalpel, not a sword. Let’s not get carried away.”
“What happened?” he asks again with more bite this time. The last time he saw me, I was riding his cock in his car in front of my house after we went to the club. Then I politely told him I no longer needed him and that it was time for him to leave.
“A client got a little handsy, so I showed him what would happen if he tried it again. End of story.”
His expression hardens. “Define handsy.”
“Define none of your business.”
“Leonore.” He draws out my name through gritted teeth. He very rarely uses my name, so I mimic his tone.
“Silas.”
