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“He kills people himself! He kills the women he’s fucked. He isnotbetter than his father.”
“He does not harm his lovers,” she sneers with the pride and undying loyalty that will surely be her undoing. “He feeds them. Bathes them. Takes care of them. And then he sends them home, safe and in one piece, and with a security detail that will ensure their well-being for life.”
“Headmittedto killing a lover!”
Why do I shout? Why do I care so much?
Why does her refusal to acknowledge the danger she’s in anger me so?
Frustrated, I snatch the golden gown and stride across the room. “I didn’t hear about her from a stranger, Mary. He told me himself.”
“That woman you speak of…” She follows me into the closet, but when she catches me lifting my shirt over my head, she stops in the door, her eyes softening. Her body relaxing. “Thatonewoman, was sent to Copeland to kill his brother. She was placed in his life to cause harm. Felix was made aware of this plan, flew to a city he was not welcome in, placed his own life in danger, and dealt with the threat, when that same brother could so easily have killed him where he stood.”
She pushes away from the door and stops right in front of me,unsnapping my jeans like we’re old friends and intimacy comes easily to us. “Felix’s only intention in this world is to protect. Maybe he looks different to how you picture a protector. Maybe he’s rough, and perhaps his words are a little too harsh. But I assure you, I do not suffer Stockholm Syndrome, Ms. Cannon. And there is not a man on this planet I would prefer to serve.”
“What about Cato?” I push my jeans down and rid myself of the bra that won’t work with this gown. “Would you choose Cato over Felix? He’s the baby, after all. The youngest. Doesn’t that mean he deserves your loyalty the most?”
“Cato has my loyalty.” She picks up the golden gown and lowers into a crouch, holding the fabric open for me to step into. “He was raised by Felix.” Glancing up, she smiles when I step in, and slowly begins to rise, bringing the dress up with her. “He was a child, being raised by a child. These men are good, Ms. Cannon.” Straightening her back, she holds the lengths of fabric as I bring it up comfortably.
She doesn’t mention the red rings circling my wrists. Or the bruising near my inner elbows where Doctor Mayet forced lifesaving fluids and medication into my body.
“Felix has passed the baton of Cato’s care to Tim and Archer for now,” she murmurs, soft and sweet and entirely maternal. “He sent the boy to a place where it is safer, while he’s here, defending the family with Micah and keeping all of Timothy’s demons on this side of the country.”
Continuing to hold my dress up, since it would fall if she let go, she steps around my body and ties an elegant bow at the back of my neck. “If you think there aren’t enemies at Felix’s gate, waiting for a moment of weakness and readying to stampede this home the second they can, then you’re more foolish than I thought.”
Finished, she releases me and takes a step back, giving me room to turn and study myself in one of the dozen mirrors.
The gown she selected fits like it was sewn around me. The straps she just tied create a halter that cups my breasts and pulls everything into place. The fabric itself cinches in at my waist, falls straight over my hips, and pools at my feet.
If waterfalls were gold, this is what they would look like.
“Felix has taken on the burden of being the front line.” She clasps her hands and studies me as I study myself. “If this family falls, it will only be over that man’s dead body. He cares deeply, Ms. Cannon. And I think you know that.”
I look away from the mirror and meet her discerning eyes. “I do?”
“I read theCannon Daily. Your articles targeted all but Felix himself. You knew he would react to protect those other boys. You knew what you were doing. So don’t stand there and insult me by thinking I don’t see through you.”
Tension builds in the air, nerves bubbling in my stomach.
She’s got me pegged.
But how much does she know?
“Wear the gold shoes.” She breaks eye contact before I can formulate an intelligent response, turns on her feet, and takes down a delicate pair of strappy heels from the wall and sets them on a luxurious lounge in the middle of the room. “I will help with your hair if you wish.” Then she peers to a clock on the wall and dips her chin. “Mr. Malone will be here shortly. It would be best if you don’t make him wait.”
Why does my heart thrum painfully in my chest?
Why does my stomach swirl with nerves?
Why does my head ache from overthinking, and my tongue chafe from being too dry?
Why do I care that Felix Malone’s feelings will be hurt if I don’t attend this stupid dinner?
He’s a fucking monster whose heart I should drive my knife into. Not worry about breaking.
And yet, here I am, walking the halls of his home, past three armed guards—I count each one as I go—toward the stairs that will take me to the main floor.
“He wishes for you to join him in the formal dining room,” Mary relays on my left, her words so low, I barely register them. “Dinner will be served soon. You will not be bothered for the next several hours.”
