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I dig my heels into the carpet, trying not to make a sound. My curiosity has been piqued; it’s always been my worst fucking weakness.
“Dead…” He takes a drink and then slams the bottle back on the desk. “Set up… No one sets me up. No one kills one of my men—”
His words are slurred, but no longer indecipherable. I catch them loud and clear, and I can guess what he’s talking about. Whatever shipment they were dealing with tonight clearly didn’t go well—someone died. My thoughts instantly go to Lucas and Zaid, and an inexplicable rush of fear fills me. But I get the feeling that Hale’s anger would become a tempest that might consume the whole world if that happened. If one of his blood-brothers died.
A sudden rush of nerves runs through me. This isn’t Hale’s bedroom, it’s an office, but still. It’s his private space. I’m not supposed to be here—I’m supposed to be tied to a bed behind a locked door, tucked away where I’ll never escape.
If he finds me snooping in the hallway, he’ll be fucking furious.
Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I glance back toward the bedroom I came from. I need to try to find some clue about where I am, some useful information I can give Brian. I can’t waste this precious opportunity.
I step away from the cracked door, careful not to move in front of the small opening between the door and the frame. Not to let Hale see me.
But as I turn to retrace my steps down the corridor, the door whips open suddenly.
My heart jumps into my throat, nearly choking me with fear as Hale’s hand closes around my wrist, yanking me inside the room. He slams the door shut behind me and shoves me up against it.
“Grace.” The single word falls on me like a fucking anvil. I swear I see my life flash before my eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I heard a noise.” I lift my chin, putting on an air of reckless confidence I don’t feel. Whiskey hovers on his breath, sweet and smoky.
“That’s not why you’re here.”
He laughs humorlessly, taking a step back. My fingers grapple for the door handle, but before I can even turn it, his palm strikes the heavy wood next to my head with a thud. Blocking me. Penning me in. “Don’t move,” he growls.
Deep. Raspy.
I open my mouth to say something else, but I don’t have any excuses. There’s no fucking reason I should be here. Not
in this room. Not in this house.
I don’t belong in this world anymore, I think desperately, willing the words to feel true.
“Did you come here to taunt me?” He cocks his head, one corner of his lip tilting up in a feral smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“No.”
“To tempt me?”
“No.”
“To ruin me?” His voice drops, his eyes narrowing.
“Looks like you’re doing a pretty good fucking job of that yourself,” I say pointedly, glancing past him at the whiskey on the desk. “What are you—half a bottle in by now?”
He glares at me, then presses away from the door and stalks back to the desk, picking up the bottle of amber liquid and downing another shot as if to prove a point. He lets out a hissing breath as the whiskey burns down his throat, and for a second, I see the raw pain in his cobalt eyes.
Then his gaze shifts back to me, and suspicion fills his features instead.
“Come here,” he commands.
“No.”
“Is that all you can fucking say?”
“No.”
“Then say something else.”
