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Broderick and Horn-Rimmed were only a few beats behind me, their cars already trailing mine when I pulled into the shady alley between Docks on Markee and its neighboring building. Another car door slams from the outside.
Too late.
I’m too late.
Layla is still, her eyes widening in surprise, and I’m not able to stomach how she looks at me as I tighten the ropes.
“What are you doing?” She struggles against me. “Gabriel? What are you—”
I press the gun to her lips with deadly intent. “If you want to stop our play, darling, then you’re going to have to use the safe word. Otherwise, you’ll keep your mouth shut until I tell you otherwise.”
Let her put the pieces together. She had never given me the safe word before we went onstage and I’d taken care of her. How do I get her to trust me now without giving myself away?
“You’re not my fucking Dom,” she spits out around the muzzle.
Right as the footsteps grow louder and the boss walks into the warehouse.
There is no good way to play this. Not with the countdown starting and so many things hinging on this moment. I pocket Layla’s gun and reach out to grab the one from Clint’s lifeless hand.
There is also no way we are getting out of here alive if I let her go right now. And instead of trusting me to make these kinds of decisions on the fly…Layla is livid. She should be.
It’s smarter to be. I just hope she somehow finds her way to understanding through the haze of fury.
I have to fight back a dark chuckle. I’m a killer and I’ve proved it right in front of her. But I’ve also proven that I’ll never hurt her.Come on, sweetheart, put it together!
“Well. You’ve beaten us here.”
Broderick steps around the corner with his eyebrows raised and Horn-Rimmed at his side. This is the dark god who rules the underworld, except he’s got the kind of face one skips over in a crowd. Despite his reputation, he’s nothing but a fit middle-aged man with a slender build and masculine features. Today he’s wearing a dark suit with a bright blue button-up shirt.
“I made good time,” I tell him, nodding my head at Horn-Rimmed.
“Clint called us to say he had a surprise. I certainly never expected to find my little detective friend here.” Broderick is baiting me. Especially when he pauses to laugh, rich and deep.
Letting me know that Clint captured my mark for me before I had a chance to get to her.
“She’s not yours.” I force myself to grin. “But I’ve got her restrained. She broke free. Fucking killed this loser.” I kick the bottom of Clint’s shoe for emphasis. Ignoring the hard lump lodged in my chest and pointedly ignoring Layla. “He’s not as useful as you thought.”
Horn-Rimmed sets his briefcase down on the floor and he and Broderick circle Layla like vultures.
“This pretty little thing has caused quite a lot of trouble for us,” my boss croons.
I fucking hate the way he’s looking at her.
“I’m not a thing,” she snaps. “And fuck you.”
“This idiot thought he was a killer just because he squeaked out info from the inside,” I add as though she never spoke. “You want something done right? Here we are. He might have got her, but he made a mess of things.”
Layla has gone stone cold. Rigid. Watching us. “Fucking bastards. All of you. You’re going to get what's coming to you if it’s the last thing I do.”
I need her to stay quiet. She’ll jeopardize everything I’m doing if she runs her mouth, and right now she's too pissed at me to even think things through.
“Careful with your words, sweetheart. Haven’t you learned anything at this point? Talk is cheap and you’re not in a position to pay up.” I laugh.
The laughter only incenses her.
Layla lunges against the ropes and spews off a string of obscenities that makes me proud.
I rip off a piece of Clint’s shirt and slide it around her head like a gag. She jerks, fighting me every inch of the way, her glare making it no secret she wants my head.
