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I shove down the music because I know how to make this right. I cross the office. I take the burner out of Trap’s hand and put it on his desk. I start to close the distance between us, to slip my arms around his neck, to pull him close for a kiss that echoes the notes in my head. But before my lips find his, his desk phone rings, on the intercom’s private line.
Trap lowers his forehead to mine, taking a long, deep breath that seems to steady him. “I swear to God, I’m going to rip out that line and let Susan shout at me from her desk.”
The music doesn’t like the wordsriporshout. It slips into muddy chords, into something that sounds like danger. But I know how to fix that too.
Trap’s already on the phone as I reach the door. I wave and head back to the house.
I was right. Ididknow how to drown out those ugly discords. Another slip of paper, dissolved on my tongue in the guest room, turns all the music bright again.
Even when I think about Jonas and Ansel Herzog, somewhere they can’t be tracked.
Even when I think about Trap, overburdened with the freeport and the Herzogs and me.
Even when I think about Leo, who will probably never speak to me again after I slapped him, after I took his Crash.
The music plays on and on, and I close my eyes, the better to hear the individual notes.
32
TRAP
* * *
Ican broker deals worth millions of dollars.
I can manage egos, making billionaires stand in line like naughty little children.
I can drop half a dozen opponents in the krav maga gym, even when they come at me in pairs, in trios.
But I can’t figure out how to talk to Alix.
I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s giving me the cold shoulder. I can only imagine how hard she had to work, getting her head around what I planned to do at Kynk.
Forget that I went to a sex club. She trusts me. She knows about my Beast. She knows I’ll never fuck another woman behind her back.
But the club is filled with traumatic memories for her. Plus, she—of all people—knows how much murder weighs.
I was supposed to take out the men who raped her, and I failed.
I failed, and then I came home and fucked her, which wasn’t the most brilliant idea my dick has ever had.
I’ll be honest. There will never be a time I can’t get it up for Alix Key. But the last few nights, I’ve made sure to work late at the office. I’ve taken business calls from Tokyo and Seoul and Singapore. I’ve headed up to Wilmington for a Chamber of Commerce meeting. I’ve gone on long runs, like I’m training for a fucking marathon.
Because there was something off that night, when I got home.
Alix came without me telling her to. I can justify that. I can tell myself stories. And I can come up with games for us to play, a little discipline to get her back in line, things I know she’ll melt for.
But part of my lizard brain is afraid it just won’t work.
So it’s easier to be busy than to take care of business. It’s easier to pretend everything’s fine in the world. In the freeport. In my bed.
And here’s the kicker: Alix doesn’t come looking for me. She sleeps in the guest room. She stares at her phone. She’s just as happy with me out of the house.
I’ve lost her.
And I don’t know how to turn that around.
33
