“That reminds me,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about your situation.”
“My situation as in…?”
“The Bratva knows you work here. They hit this place once already looking for you. It’s not safe for you to be spending so much time here. It’s only a matter of time before they return for round two. It might be time to move you somewhere more secure.”
The little hairs on the back of my neck rise. “More secure like where?”
“A safehouse. Somewhere off the grid, where they can’t find you.”
“No.”
“Not this bullshit again. Listen, girl?—”
“I said no,” I interrupt. “We’ve been through this. I’m not going anywhere, and if you can’t accept that, then we need to part ways.”
“Your safety?—”
“Eva’ssafety is on the line. That’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. Why I’m busting my ass waiting tables in this pub. You told me you would help me get her back. Was that a lie to shut me up?”
He glances left and right as if to check whether the others nearby can hear, then tugs me closer. “Alright, alright… you’ve made yourself clear. No safehouse. No hiding out upstate.”
“Can I get back to my tables now?”
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Go from sulking wallflower to a feisty little pain in the ass within a second?” he asks, deep blue eyes studying every detail of my face.
…and making it grow hot and flushed.
Why does he always have to stare as if he’s memorizing me? As if I’m under some kind of deep assessment?
Ugh.
He clears his throat and blinks away the intensity. “Anyway, I’ve got training. I’ll be at the gym ’til late tonight. You need anything, you call Tom… or me.”
“I don’t have your number… or a phone.”
“Now you do.” He’s reached into the pocket of my apron to grab the notepad and pencil and jot down his number. “Borrow a phone from Bridget or Marcy if you must.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Stay out of trouble, alright?” he asks.
“You know I always do.”
But as I respond and Killian turns to stride back toward his table, I’m left more frazzled than I want to be.
I’m not normally a liar.
Growing up, Mom always cautioned me and Eva about telling lies, even little ones.
Not only could they easily spiral out of control, but she told us our word was all we had. We weren’t rich, always one or two paychecks away from being out on the street, and if our word meant nothing, then so did we.
I draw a deep breath and stamp out the guilt niggling away at me.
This isn’t the same thing, and I’m not a kid anymore.
