Page 4

Silently, I slip off his lap. I dip, thrust my ass in his face, then spin around and sink between his legs. I make my voice breathless, innocent. “This good, Sammy? You like it?”

Sammy watches me for a few seconds, then drops his face into his hands. Whispers something.

Confused, I rest a hand on his knee. “Sammy? What’s wrong?”

Lifting his face, he locks his eyes on mine. “You know too much, Delilah.”

My pulse trips. How does he know my name?

I feign a smile. “All I know is that you’re the best client I’ve ever had, baby.”

He doesn’t smile, just stares. On my knees, I freeze. Panic unfurls in my stomach like a vine. That little gift of fear I’ve trusted a handful of times in my life. His dark eyes remind me of how my stepdad, Tom, would smile when he got too close. The way Travis reached for me the night I left our apartment.

Bad men with bad touches.

That’s when Sammy’s hands close over my wrists. He grips them hard, yanking me up between his thighs. My stomach drops.

Fuck. I should have trusted my gut and the way it can read people like a pro. I was right. Something’s wrong.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” His seething voice chills me to the bone. “Baby. I don’t deserve it. After the things I’ve—we’ve done—I don’t deserve you being nice to me.”

“Sammy…” My breath hitches, but I try to play it cool, stay calm, when everything inside of me is a screaming siren. “It’s okay. Just let me go.”

“I tried to protect you as long as I could. I tried to keep you safe, but they won’t wait. Not anymore.”

I struggle against his hard grip, but the way his fingers dig into my wrists makes me gasp. “You’re hurting me.” I don’t recognize my own voice.

“He likes to destroy pretty things. And you’re the prettiest.”

I wrench my wrists, to no avail. “Sammy—”

Desperate, wild-eyed, he abruptly releases my wrists. “Listen, listen to me—”

“Sam—”

His slap is sharp and quick and sends me falling onto my side.

I yelp as pain explodes in my cheek and then watch in horror as he throws the bottle of whiskey against the wall. It shatters. Whiskey streams across the floor, soaking my boots, my knees, my palms.

I sit there, stunned by the shock of what’s happened. My hand goes to my hot cheek. “You motherfucker,” I whisper, bent over in front of him on the whiskey-soaked carpet. I wrap my hand around my gold locket and try to breathe through the fear.

Lucy, Lucy, Lucy, I think to calm my spinning mind.

“I—I’m sorry.” He collapses into the couch, his face twisting as he looks me over. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just need you to listen.”

I grip my cheek. I can’t feel my face. Tears fill my eyes.

Frantically, I look around. No one will hear me if I scream. The room’s soundproof.

My gaze locks on the small black panic button located beneath one of the side tables, but before I can move for it, Sammy twists on the couch, grabs my shoulders, and pulls me up to eye level. His breath stings my face. My eyes water from their whiskey burn.

He pants as he shakes me, says, “Listen to me. If he catches you, Delilah, it’ll be bad. So fucking bad.”

I twist in his grip, meeting his frantic gaze. “How do you know my name?”

“I know everything about you. And they do too.” Releasing me, he reaches into the silken interior of his jacket pocket. “Take this.”

Into my hands, he presses a USB drive.