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“That's what I needed to know.” He stands up, towering over me despite my heels.
“What? But I–”
He taps the side of his temple. “Your silence spoke plenty. Loyalty is a funny thing like that. But then,” he smiles, though there’s nothing pleasant about it, “I know where your loyalty lies.”
“There you are.”
I whip my head around to watch Damien stroll up toward us.
“Bryan,” Damien offers him a weary smile.
Bryan nods his head. “Just keeping your little lady company. Ah,” he looks up and smiles as the waiter returns with his drink, “you two have a splendid night. I've got some business to attend to.” He takes his Jack and Coke then heads back into the crowded room.
Damien hands me my clutch. “Time to leave.” His voice is clipped. Without waiting to see if I follow, he heads toward the doors.
I shake my head, hurrying after him. My temples hurt. Thoughts of red and betrayal swirl about in the chaotic mess.
Maybe he knows?
I try to paste a calm expression on my face, but with each step, it fades.
When we reach the Lamborghini, Damien opens the passenger door for me. I slip inside, noticing Kane in the driver’s seat.
Damien leans into the car, “Is the package secured?”
“Yes, sir. Velasquez has it.” His bruised knuckles tighten around the steering wheel.
“Good. Take her home. Go slow. Run a few lights. Then grab the Audi and meet us.” Damien’s instructions are just as clipped as they’ve been all night. He nods at Kane, then shuts the door.
Clutching my purse with both hands, I try to quiet the voices in my head as we drive off into the night.
* * *
A strange sound startles me awake. I grasp my throbbing temples and glance around my dark room. It's the middle of the night, I must have fallen asleep on the ground. My back and legs protest as I pry myself off the hard, tiled floor like a beached manatee wearing a tutu. I glance down at myself and sigh, I’m still in my gown. My head aches, the voices still screaming at me. Creeping to the door, I lean my ear against the cool, wood surface. It does little to ease my headache.
The strange shuffling continues.
Easing my door open, I tiptoe down the long hallway, following the bubbling sound.
A single light shines above the sink in the open kitchen. Damien stands shirtless in front of it, scrubbing his hands. The dim lighting highlights the contours of his muscles and tribal tattoos, adding a dark intensity to the atmosphere.
I slow my steps, leaning against the wall to watch his methodical movements.
His hands rub in circles, lathering dark soap up and down his forearms. No, not all soap. Deep red bleeds through the foamy bubbles, dripping into the oversized sink.
Blood.
My knees buckle. I reach out, holding the wall for support.
Damien jerks his head toward me. “Lokelani? What are you doing up this late?” His words are soft, his eyes are anything but. Dark and turbulent, they swirl with pain.
“I couldn't sleep.” Guilt tugs at my chest as I wipe my palms on my dress.
Turning back to the sink, he rinses his hands off before pouring more soap into his palm and resuming scrubbing. Like a surgeon preparing for an operation, he focuses on each knuckle, even under every fingernail.
Repeating that process twice more, he leans over and scrubs his face, then hair in the sink the same way. While he lathers his hair, I sneak farther into the kitchen. My feet falter again as I round the island and find him wearing only a pair of boxers.Not just shirtless, nearly naked.
I swallow, my body heating as I grip the counter behind me. While he leans over the sink rinsing his hair, I unabashedly stare at every muscular inch of him. His broad shoulders, back, thin waist, ass, even his thick thighs, and defined calves simultaneously send icy tingles up my spine and light my body on fire.
