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He leaned forward, closing his hands around the bars on either side of my head and caging me in. He wasn’t touching me, but it felt as if he was all over me. I wasn’t sure whether to shove him away or grab him and pull him closer.
“You were good.”
I licked my dry lips. “Oh, thanks.”
“Too good.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I stayed silent. “I don’t want you working here.”
My spine stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I did, but I’m a little stunned that those words actually came out of your mouth.” Okay, a lot stunned.
“You know who owns this place?”
“Yeah, I do. And who I work for is none of your business.”
“Now, that’s where you’re wrong. Until you’re off my property, every single thing about you is my business.”
“Good thing you kicked us out, then.”
His jaw clenched.
I met his eyes, refusing to flinch under their hardness. “Why do you care, Vic? What does it matter where I work?”
“Callum James is dangerous.”
My brows arched. “And you’re not?”
He remained silent.
“Is that all? Are we finished? I need to help Brin and Cali.” I put my hands on his chest and shoved, but it was like shoving a cement wall.
“Macayla.” His voice was softer, almost gentle.
My breath hitched when I heard my name pass his lips. He’d never said it before, and fireflies lit my entire body at the sound.
God, this man did things to me. Things that had my insides bouncing on a trampoline and made my head muddled.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“Why are you back after five years?” I retorted.
“Because I fucked up on a mission. Needed to get my head straight.”
Whoa. I hadn’t expected that reply. I hadn’t expected him to answer me, let alone tell me something so… well, personal. At least personal for a man like Vic. “Oh.”
“Answer the question,” he said.
I licked the scar above my lip, and the iron bars groaned as if he was tightening his fingers around them. “Jackson and I needed a fresh start.”
“You running from an ex?”
I shook my head. “No.”
His jaw clenched and his brows furrowed like he was in pain. His eyes dipped to my hands that were still resting on his chest. No, not resting—my fingers were curled in his T-shirt.
I yanked them back and watched the rumpled material slowly flatten against his chest.
