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It’s probably too late to bluff, but I’ll admit, I’m not at my best.
He sighs. “You should’ve said that from the start. Please open up.”
“Okay, good point, still not opening the door.”
I need to think. This guy obviously knows more about the situation than I do, but how can I trust him? There’s a dead body wrapped in blankets behind me and there’s a strong possibility I might end up the same way. I start pacing back and forth, brain working a million miles an hour but coming up with absolutely nothing.
“Ren, we’ve got eight minutes before the cops arrive. I need at least five to drag that dead body down to my truck. That leaves us three minutes to spare, which is cutting it real close.”
“How do I know you’re not the one who killed this guy?” I put my hands on my hips, feeling triumphant. This is a really good point I’m making. “How do I know you’re not going to do the same to me?”
Something bangs against the door. Not hard, but enough to make me flinch. “That was my forehead,” he says. “I’m slamming my forehead against this door because I am so beyond annoyed right now. I am so fucking sick and tired of Burian getting away with all these kills and leaving a wake of destruction behind him. For once, I want to ruin his goddamn day. So please, open up, and let me help you.”
Something in his tone makes me soften. I step forward, hesitating as I reach for the knob. “Who’s Burian?”
“Dimitry. Your boss. That’s his real name.”
“Huh. I like Dimitry better.”
“Burian’s fine. Please, Ren. Open up.”
I grab the knob. My heart’s racing. Am I really doing this? It doesn’t feel like I have much of a choice. I can stand here, call his bluff, and hope he goes away. But more likely, if he’s lying about the cops, he’ll sit out there until the body in here starts to stink, then I’m really screwed.
Or he’s not lying about the cops, and he’s not kidding about trying to help me, and I really do have about seven minutes until I end up in prison.
“Shit,” I whisper sharply.
Grandpop would lose his mind if he knew what I was out here doing for him. He’d call me all sorts of things, most of which would boil down tototal moron, and he wouldn’t be wrong. Grandpop’s a serious man, but a gentle one, and even though he’d never do it, I’d probably deserve a little smack upside the head for this. Well, probably worse.
Door closed, I’m screwed no matter what.
Door opened, and I have a slim chance.
“Shit,” I say again, then yank down the handle.
I jump back as a man steps inside.
My heart pounds like a marching band wants to storm up my throat as I stare at Lanzo, my mouth hanging open.
He’s big, tall, easily over six feet, with wide shoulders, athletic arms, a muscular chest. My stomach twists and my nipples stiffen from sheer confused excitement. The guy’s attractive,hoteven, which is an obscene thing to notice given the situation. His eyes are crystal blue, his hair’s a deep black color and a total mess, on the shaggy side, and he needs a shave. He’s in slim jeans, running shoes, and a dark jacket, completely nondescript.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but definitely not a runway model.
His cheekbones are high. His nose is slightly crooked like it’s been broken before. His lips are full, kissably full, like the sort of lips I’d like to get lost in for a while.
He radiates this strange, intense masculinity, like he could use a single screwdriver to break down this entire building, mixed with a tinge of chaotic energy. When his gaze lands on me and his lips quirk up, I feel a thrill of pure desire and excitement run into my core.
I want this man.
I need this man.
And I’m going to scream.
It’s a very disconcerting mix of emotions.
Lanzo’s head cocks to the side. His grin gets bigger, more confident.
“Hello, Ren,” he says. “Come with me if you want to live.”
