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Arran gives him a look. “I don’t care. Pay whatever it takes.” He goes to a panel on the wall and pushes it in. It spins, revealing a lazy Susan type of shelf with many types of liquor. “What about Gideon?”
My ears perk up, but when Arran’s brow furrows as he watches me, I feign interest in my shoes.
“There was no trace of him. By the time I got here, he was gone. I was actually searching for you to ask if you knew where he went. He also let Devon go. I just got a call from him telling me he’s back home with no memory of what happened.”
“Gideon knocked him out.”
Ruslan nods. “Probably for the best.”
“I want you to go through all the security footage. Figure out how that fuck got in so easily. And get a call in to Michael Williams. Make sure Gideon didn’t kill him to get his ring.”
“Yes, sir,” Ruslan says. “Will you be staying here?”
Arran gives me a suspicious glance. “I’m going home. You and I will reconvene tomorrow.”
* * *
I’m left alone in Arran’s office while he goes to do things he obviously doesn’t want me around for.
I scan the room. It’s not cluttered, not that I expected it to be, but there are more hints that this place is used on a daily basis. Unlike his office at home, his desk here has random items, like a notepad with actual notes in it scribbled in Arran’s neat but stern writing, a few files stacked in the corner, and a cup with pens. On one side of the room is a coatrack, and on the other, three file cabinets.
Digging through a single one of these drawers would probably prove much more fruitful than anything I’ve done at his house. The temptation to go through everything is great. But I have no idea how long he’ll be gone.
So I sit at the chair behind his desk and lean back to stare at the ceiling, though I’m not looking at it, not really. What I see instead is the expression on Arran’s face just before we were interrupted by Ruslan. I wonder what he was about to say? Does it matter?
They say actions speak louder than words. Had Arran already said what he wanted to when he attacked his own brother in my defense? Yes, I’m his to protect, but to have done what he did, I’ve got to be more than just an object to him.
Then again, I can also recall with vivid clarity each and every time he’s touched my collar and the sting of knowing he views me as a thing. No, not just a thing. An object of revenge.
“Skye. It’s time to go.” Arran comes in with a long black coat. When I stand, he holds it out for me.
“Thanks, but I wasn’t chilly.”
“Your dress is torn.”
I frown as, for the first time, I notice the torn décolletage and how the slit of the skirt that came to my thigh is now up to my waist. With everything that happened, I never looked at myself.
“I didn’t realize how badly Landon tore it,” I say, futilely attempting to hold the pieces together. No wonder Ruslan barely glanced my way.
“It wasn’t Landon.” Arran’s gaze intensifies, giving meaning to his words.It was me.
“Oh,” I say. “Well, it’s just a dress.”
He lowers his eyes. “We should go.” Then he takes my hand and leads me out.
Five minutes later, we’re out the door and sliding into the back seat of Arran’s black car.
“Take us home, Frank,” he tells his driver.
“Sure thing, boss.”
I stare out the window the entire drive, and as the city goes by in a blur of lights, the adrenaline that was keeping me going begins to wear off.
By the time Frank pulls up to the entrance of the house on Rittenhouse Square, my limbs feel like they’ve been pumped full of lead, heavy and hard to move.
“Can we just sleep in the car?” I lay my head back and blow out a long held breath.
“It’s tempting, but no.”
