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“Lily?” he asks, raising his brow at me, his lip lifting on one side.
“That’s me.” I point at my chest. “I’m Lily… or Lil… or Liliana.”
He stares at me, his gaze roving over my face before his eyes narrow and darken. His gaze flicks behind me.
“The preacher’s daughter?” Kim must nod because he shakes his head, his ice-blue eyes looking more royal blue at that moment. “I told you to leave it alone, Mom.” He pauses, stepping toward me. He’s her son? “You should go home.”
“Luke Jameson King! You will be polite in my home to my guests.”
A muscle in his jaw tics and I catch movement as his hand lifts. I flinch automatically, hating how that’s my first reaction to a man who is merely scrubbing his hand over his face. The move seems to anger him even more so I step back.
“It’s getting late.” I spin around, stepping toward Kim. “Thanks for inviting me, Kim. I’ll see you at church on Sunday.”
Turning away, I don’t look at either of them as I step past him, his woodsy cologne penetrating my lungs. Leaning down, I slip my ballet flats on, hearing them both whisper-shouting behind me.
I wince, hating that I’ve caused them to argue. Placing my hand on the knob, I turn it and pull it open before a hand hits the wooden surface, slamming it shut. Gasping, I don’t move an inch as a chest touches my back, only this time it feels completely different to what happened Sunday.
I feel safe against this chest; the safest I’ve ever felt.
Turning my head slightly, the top of my head reaches his bicep—a very big bicep—before I tip my head back and look into his eyes.
“Stay,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking over my face.
It feels like he’s saying so much more than that as his attention moves to my neck where my scarf has slipped.
I reach up, pushing it back into place to conceal the finger mark bruises, but it’s too late—he’s seen them.
Swallowing, I don’t move until he backs away a step, shaking his head before spinning around and walking through the living room and into the kitchen.
“His bark is worse than his bite,” Kim says, ending on a laugh.
My gaze moves to the kitchen when I turn around. He leans against the counter, watching me in the same way he did on Sunday. What is he searching for?
I can’t stay in this house with him; he makes me feel things I shouldn’t want to. Things I’m not allowed to feel.
Pulling the door open, I don’t say another word before rushing out of the house, banging it closed behind me and running for the field.
The field that calms my warring thoughts.
LUKE
I keep my gaze connected to Evan’s car, a tablet on my lap so I can see any cameras surrounding the place. My nostrils flare, my hand tightening on the steering wheel as Dean opens a bag of chips, my jaw clenching as he chomps down on them.
I’ve had to sit in the same SUV as him for the last three weeks, and I can’t fuckin’ wait until he’s out of the picture and as far away from me as he can be.
“Where to after this?” Dean asks, to which I ignore the fuck out of him.
My gaze flits to the tablet, spotting an SUV coming this way. I keep my attention trained on it until it turns the corner into the industrial park where the meet is set up.
“Black SUV coming your way,” I tell Evan through the earpiece.
“I’ve got eyes,” he replies as the SUV comes into his view.
I watch as it turns around, stopping approximately ten feet in front of Evan, but he doesn’t move to get out of his car until Darrell opens his door and steps out.
Clicking on the button under my seat, I roll it as far back as it can go, preparing my muscles to move quickly if I need to.
I don’t trust Darrell much the same as Dean; the difference is if he’s threatening Evan, I can take him out. Not so much with Dean—at least not unless I have sufficient evidence to back myself up. That may sound extreme, but the fuckface is hiding something, that much is clear. Why come here after all this time? I get it, Kitty wanted him here, but why stay?
