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The violent hammering of my heart almost drowns out his offer, the tempting words flittering around my head. Freedom. Guaranteed. My dad would be safe…

“What would you do to Cage?” I ask. “Would you … hurt him?”

“Why do you care? He was more than happy when he agreed to snap your pretty little neck.” He runs the tip of his finger down my throat. “And isn’t your dad’s life more important?” My gaze drops to the ground, and I try not to drown in the scenarios darting through my head. My dad would be okay, I’d be free, and we could start fresh. Cole would be gone … but he already was. And what if I’m wrong about him? What if he’s nothing like the boy I used to know? He proved how little he cared about me when he left—what if that disinterest only grew over time? He’s put years of his life into this job. Am I foolish to think I’m suddenly more important?

If Cole is presented with a choice, will he pick my life or his?

“Do we have a deal, Sunday?”

Felton’s question snaps me out of my spiral, but I still feel as though I’m spinning. Betrayal coats my throat, but I’m unsure if it’s mine or Cole’s.

I grip the door behind me, nails pressing into the wood. “Yes.”

Chapter 11

Cole – Saturday Night

“It just needs time. And make up,” Sunday says as I inspect her neck in the bathroom light. We’re back in our ensuite, not that it’s any safer given that apparently any fucker can walk in.

Running my thumb over her marked skin, I try to bury the burning self-hatred for leaving Sunday alone for even a second in this hell house. The meeting felt like a blur of figures, locations and deals that would make my career if I called them in. All I could think about was her. I checked on her a few times, making excuses to go to the nearest window and watch her by the pool with Darcy, and she seemed fine.

When I discovered they were both gone, anxiety spiked in my blood. Relief flooded me when she appeared seconds later with Felton, but with bruises on her neck. Bruises from Michael fucking Maddox. If the man had been in front of me, I’d have torn his fucking throat out.

“Darcy is sleeping with Christian,” Sunday says. “And Michael.”

Leaning against the counter, I run my hand across my beard. That’s not surprising. Michael has apparently always been a womanizer, and from some drunken confessions from Felton, it’s clear his girlfriends have never been off limits. “I had a suspicion.”

“Does Felton know? Does he even care?”

“He cares, he just wants to impress his dad. It’s one of the reasons bringing Felton in for information would be pointless. He knows nothing. Michael knows everything.” I lean over the tub and turn on the faucet.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get the phone.”

“It was reckless of me to even let you go anywhere near that office. I’ll try again later tonight.”

“And if you fail?”

I go to the cabinet and examine the selection of bubble baths, picking out the scent Sunday will love the most. “Let’s hope I don’t.”

Pouring the silky lavender cream into the stream of water, I consider my next steps. Taking the phone by force might be my only option, but that comes with risks. My cover would be blown for sure. The other option would be to create a distraction.

“Felton suspects you.”

I straighten up, and Sunday sits on the edge of the tub, running her fingers through the bubbles.

“He said that to you?”

She nods slowly. “He said if I find out if you’re a cop and tell him, he’d let me and my dad go. Forget the debt. That we’d never hear from him again.” She stands, keeping her back to me. “He said you were going to kill me.”

Shit. Felton is stirring shit, which means he really is suspicious. The only good thing is that it’s clear he has no idea about my connection to Sunday. That means she’s safe.

“You know I’d never do that.”

“But you didn’t tell me.”

She faces me, cheeks flushed, the steam from the bath water creeping over the tub and into the air between us. My breath feels labored, thick, because she’s partly right. I should have told her, because lies have never helped. “You were already terrified after breakfast. I didn’t want to scare you further.”

“You’re making a pattern out of lying to protect me.”