“Sure,” I said. “My dad was a dragon.”
He froze.
“Wow,” I went on. “This feels cathartic. I should’ve tried telling the truth sooner. Anyway. He was a weak one. No fire. Bad wings. He mostly just sat around, hoarding tequila bottles and disappointment.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I didn’t say it was,” I said. “He died bitter and small, which I assume is not what you’re looking for.”
His jaw worked. “This is not a joke.”
“Then why does it feel like one?” I shot back. “Because from where I’m sitting, this is either a dark romance meet-cute or the stupidest interrogation I’ve ever been part of. And I’ve been to academic conferences.”
He moved closer. Too motherfucking close.
“Why were you looking for the book?”
I shrugged as much as the chair allowed. “Because it was missing. And I don’t like it when things are missing.”
“You found it.”
“Did I?”
His hand came down hard on the chair back, rattling the metal. “Enough.”
I reacted without thinking. I threw my head back as far as I could, then thrust forward, aiming for his face.
I missed him completely.
The chair tipped, and as it did, the world tilted.
I hit the van floor with a painful clang that reverberated through my head, and stars burst behind my eyes. The chair landed on its side with me still strapped to it, wrists numb, cheek pressed against cold metal.
The brute looked down at me, then straightened and stepped back. “You can stay like that,” he said.
“Wow,” I muttered. “Chivalry truly is dead.”
I shifted, testing the chair. The binding dug into my ribs. My hands tingled painfully behind me. Fear crept in around the edges of my panic.
He crouched in front of me again. “Last chance. Who are you working with?”
“No one,” I said. “Unless you count my on-again, off-again therapist, and frankly, she’d have a lot to say about this.”
“Did you tell anyone about the book?”
“I called the patron who requested it,” I said, immediately regretting thehonesty. “That’s it.”
His eyes sharpened. “Who?”
“I don’t know. He’s tall,” I said. “Bilingual. Inconveniently handsome. If you’re looking to kidnap him next, good luck. He looks like he could bench-press a fucking horse.”
That gave him pause. I probably shouldn't have shared that information. Story of my life. Loose-lipped Fartie.
My heart started doing that fast, ugly thing I hated.
“So,” I said, because the silence was unbearable. “If thisisa dark romance, I need you to know I do not consent to enemies-to-lovers under duress.”
He didn’t laugh. No, he looked tired and frustrated. Clearly, he hadn’t expected me to be such a complication.
