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He grins out of one corner of his mouth, taking a step away from me. “Deafness is common with made men.”
“I’m not a made man.”
“No?” He continues backing away, refusing to take his gaze off me as he approaches where his Ferrari sits at the edge of the lot, beneath a roof of tree limbs. The red paint glistens, entirely out of place here in the woods.
Hell, everything about Kal’s out of place for the entirety of King’s Trace. No one really knows how he got here, or why he stuck around—we don’t dare ask, either.
The man is an enigma, mysterious and elusive. Dangerous—probably more so than me.
Our only difference is his moral compass.
“You think you can work for the mafia without becoming one of them? Without succumbing to the dangerous, luxurious lifestyle? Lay in bed long enough with dogs, you wake up with fleas, kid. Might want to check yourself for bite marks.”
* * *
After Kal leaves to go do whatever shit he needs to—and rat me out, no doubt—I find myself back in the cottage bedroom, watching her. She’s less catatonic than before, but now there’s a rigidity in her limbs that makes me uneasy.
Like a caged animal, as I click the door shut and make my way to the nightstand, she watches me, waiting to strike. I set the bottled water and anti-nausea pills that Kal gave me beside the pillow and perch on the edge of the mattress.
Gulping down a breath of air, she licks her lips, watching me wearily. “What’re you gonna do to me?”
Stroking my jaw with the tips of my fingers, I shake my head. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“I should be home by now. My sister’s probably worried sick.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
She starts to sit up, tries pushing her weight into her palms, but I step closer, glaring, and she falters, dropping back until she’s flat on the mattress. Fear laces her features for the briefest moment, causing a short-lived tremor to ravage her tight little body, but when she blinks, it evaporates. Wrath takes its place, basking in the quiet glow as it soaks up the sweet solitude in her heart.
I need to ask her what the hell she’s doing, who brought her here, and what all she knows, but I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful she looks, helpless and fragile on my bed. Too weak to move, yet aware enough at this point to know she’s made a grave mistake.
She’s sweaty, strands of hair plastered to her forehead, eyes hard as she tries to glare a hole through my body. I reach out to brush her skin clean, and she jerks her head to the side, pulling just beyond my grasp.
Agitation licks through me like an uncontained wildfire, and I shift forward, clutching her chin in my palm, forcing her neck straight so she has no choice but to look at me. “Juliet,” I grind out through clenched teeth, hating and loving the heat in her icy gaze. It makes my dick twitch, even as fury swirls around my insides, spurred on by her being here and the events from earlier. “You’re not in a position to fight me. Cooperate, or—”
“Or what?” she spits, trying to tear herself from my grip. Though she’s likely still feeling the after-effects of the drug, it doesn’t put out the storm in her gaze. “You’ll kill me? Do it, see if anyone gives a shit. I won’t stop you.”
My hand falters, cramping beneath the conviction in her words. “What the fuck?”
“What? Never had anyone beg you to end their life before? That seems unlikely, given your supposed profession.”
Squinting down at her, I study the deep circles under her eyes; she blinks, her lashes fluttering against the purpled skin, and it makes my throat tight. She lookstoohaunted, too much like me.
I clear my throat, pinching her chin tighter between my thumb and forefinger. “What do you know about my profession?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
There’s a dangerous glint in her eyes, a blade she’s discovered and latched on to as her only weapon of defense against me. Unfortunately for her, it’s that goddamn attitude that draws me to her in the first place.
How can someone burn so brightly, so frequently, and still strive to keep their flames hidden? To blanket them with undeserved sadness, smother them with her guilt, as if she doesn’t have every right to smolder.
And how can I simultaneously want to extinguish her and keep the inferno raging?
I frown at her, trying to dislodge my wandering thoughts. “Why are you here?”
“None of your business.”
“Kitten, I don’t think it’s anyone’s businessbutmine.”
