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“And when I have to disappear tomorrow and go back into hiding? What then?” I needed a reaction from him. “What if I’m pregnant and need to go?”
“You will not run from me.” He stated flatly, reaching out and putting the knife in the back of my jeans, against the small of my back. “Especially not with my bun in your oven.” He indicated my belly with his glass. “Ask me for help, and I will burn New York to the ground until every man after you is nothing but ashes.”
I wiped the tears from my face, trying to find any reflective surface so I could fix my makeup. I knew it had to be a mess. I had to settle for a small reflective piece of a silver frame that held a landscape painting of the highlands with hairy, shaggy cows grazing in the fields.
My makeup was a mess. I had unraveled just like he said I would. I ran my palms over my face, trying to smooth my hair. I was humpty-dumpty, trying to bring together his shattered pieces.
“Ask me, Rose…” His voice was vicious, yet oddly pleading. There was so much feeling in those three words. I wanted to fall into his lap, and believe his promises. But what could some guy in a private security company do against the fucking New York Bratva. What arrogance gave this man the idea that he could do what LeBlanc and Brett weren’t able to do?
I stood up, raised my chin, and glared at him. He sat casually on the sofa, having zipped himself back into his pants. One arm was across the backrest, legs crossed at the ankles, the glass casually dangling in his hand.
“My name is Jubilee.” I said, my voice wavering just a little. I coughed to get the lump out of my voice. “My name is Jubilee Bradley. And you can’t help me.”
He narrowed his eyes, that casual demeanor finally cracking.
“Don’t say that.” He ordered. But I was done doing what he said. I was done following his orders.
I smiled at him, summoning ice into my veins. I put my hands on my waist and glared down at him as though he were a fly. A worm. A bottom feeder.
I shook my head in disgust. “If you want someone to control, then go back to your blonde.”
He smiled as if he just realized something. “Jealousy looks cute on you.”
“If you say so.” I was stone cold. Uncaring, unfeeling.
This is a man who can control his own heart,I reminded myself.Be cold. Just like him.
I walked to the door. I wanted to run out of his sight, but that wouldn’t work. I forced myself to go slow, casual. As though the earth shattering feelings of just a few minutes ago didn’t carve themselves into my mind as the single most exhilarating experience of my life.
“Do not walk out that door.” His free hand was clenched into a fist. I hesitated, my fingers on the doorknob. As though to press his luck, he added, “I will be insulted if you walk out that door. Do not make an enemy out of me, vixen. I will not stop until I break you.”
I didn’t look at him. I simply turned my head to say over my shoulder, “I’m unbreakable.”
I opened the door and let in the noise of the bustling restaurant. I walked out, shutting the door behind me, leaving him on that sofa, comfortably sipping his drink. I walked out of the restaurant, grabbing my peacoat from my abandoned seat.
I vaguely heard Fiona calling my name, but ignored her.
I put on my jacket when I was outside, pulling the collar up to shield me from the cold.
Did I want him to come after me? Yes. But he didn’t. So I walked alone back to the cottage.
I dug my hands into my pockets, my footsteps the only sound on the abandoned, dark street.
I was ashamed. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling and growing cold on my cheeks. I wanted to hear the sound of his leather loafers on the cobblestone running after me. Running to wrap his arms around me. To kiss me in the cold and assure me that all would be well. Not with that casual, British demeanor, but with an earnest, aggressive assurance that he wanted me. That he would make things right.
But this wasn’t a fairytale. And I wasn’t a princess. Not like Sophie.
Yes, it was jealousy. Also, indignation. How could he expect me to behis,whatever that meant, when he had brought someone else here? When she had been across his lap, waiting for his hands to caress her perfect body.
Thinking about this was a mistake. Brett would have slapped me upside the head for walking without looking around me. Without listening. If I had, I would have noticed the footsteps that were treading at the rhythm of mine. Matching my cadence because that’s how you disguise your walk when following someone.
I would have felt the hairs on my arms rise at the strange rustling that was following me like a specter.
I would have known it before jagged brass knuckles hit the nape of my neck, pushing me down to my knees and causing a burning in the back of my eyes.
“Is it her?” A voice hissed in a loud whisper.
A booted kick with a steel toe hit my ribs, and I fell to my back, coughing and blinking the stars from my vision.
