Page 43 of Twisted Knight

Then freeze from the unknown.

Then try to relax my muscles one by one, all while Holden stares at me with a look that’s equal parts annoyance and arrogance. You scared now? his eyes ask.

Torn between showing my unease, obeying him, and holding my ground, I blurt out, “It’s a cello.”

He stops and shakes his head. “Oh, so now you want to talk. Got it.”

I hit the key fob so my liftgate opens as the two of us wage a battle of wills. I was having a good day—great, in fact—and now he’s here like a dark cloud on a sunny day.

“Nope. I’m good. Thanks.” I go to pick up my cello case and trip over my own feet.

“Give me the goddamn thing, will you,” he mutters and before I can gain my balance, he yanks it from my hand, strides the rest of the distance to my car, and places the cello roughly in the back. A siren wails close by, and Holden gives it a glance before looking back at me with raised eyebrows as if to say, See? “There you go. Now you can get out of here.” He points to the road to reinforce his words.

With a clenched jaw, I open my driver’s side door but turn to face him. “This thing here.” I point from him to me and then back. “It’s called a working relationship. When we’re not at work, I’m just another person walking down the street who you have no say over. Got it?”

His eyes blaze. “Got it. And when we’re in the office, you’re another employee walking down the hallway who I couldn’t give a shit about. Got it?”

I hate you.

As if he can read my mind, he smirks. “But that could be different, Sunshine.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Your irritation with me says you’ve been considering my proposal.”

“Nope. Not once.” It’s all I’ve thought about. “I’m not interested in your smoke and mirrors. Look here, Rowan, while I screw you handily over there.” I roll my eyes.

“And yet the offer intrigues you.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“You’ve walked down the hall several times, stood outside my door, but haven’t come in. It does. The question is, what’s holding you back, Rowan?”

“You.”

“And for good reason.” He looks over my shoulder as someone passes by on the street.

One minute he’s telling me to work with him and the next he’s agreeing he’s the reason I shouldn’t. “I don’t underst—”

“A cello. And the wrong side of town. Not that I care, but I’ve got enough blood on my hands, and I’d rather not add yours to it.”

What the hell does that mean?

Get in your car and leave, Rowan.

But it’s not that easy. My curiosity wins.

“Then don’t add it. Go back to wherever your car is and leave me to mine.”

“Ah yes, to you and your cello because classical music is such a formidable means of protection in these parts.”

“Where I go it is,” I say. Shit.

He nods. Lips pursed. Eyes searching. “And where do you go?”

I hesitate. “The Sanctuary.”

He gives a subtle nod and his eyes narrow. “The Sanctuary? As in that Sanctuary?” He points to the building down the block, and I nod.