Her jaw worked hard around my hold to force out the two little words. “Or what?”
Or…what?
I didn’t have an answer prepared for that question.
“Fuck with me, and you’ll find out.” We both would find out.
How far would I go? If it came down to my boy or her, there was only one choice. But to say it didn’t pain me at the thought of losing this little flower that had bloomed unexpectantly into my life was a bold lie.
I tightened my grip, and Poppy whimpered.
“I’m sorry for trying to run.”
I arched a brow in question. “And?”
“And what?”
“Tell me it won’t happen again.”
“I won’t try to steal the car and drive away with him again,” she responded.
They were the words I wanted to hear. But…a prickle at the back of my neck told me that something was wrong with them.
Fuck English. It sounded good enough to me.
“Alright then. Go to bed.”
Poppy blinked. “That’s it?”
A smirk tugged at my lips. “Unless you want to do something about this—” I gestured to my pants.
With a squeak, Poppy launched to her feet and bolted. I stood there until the patter of footsteps upstairs disappeared into the bedroom. Then I sank into the chair, pulled the bottle to my lips, and remembered it had her sweet mouth on it. The little flower was messing with my head, and yet, I couldn’t bring myself to mind.
Chapter 13 – Poppy
Everything ached. My feet felt cold, no matter the double pairs of socks wrapping around them, but the insides—the bones, ligaments, joints—pulsed with inflammation. It spread up my legs, spider webs of pain that cocooned around my knees, dug into my hips, and screamed across my lower back.
Brady arched on the couch, pushing his book. The corner dug into my stomach, and I wasn’t quick enough to stifle the hiss.
“Mama, you’re still hot,” he observed, worry knitting his brows.
I gave him a smile. “I’ll be good as new tomorrow.”
Just one more night of good sleep. If I could manage that….
My cheeks warmed thinking about the deal with the devil in the dark. Emotions swirled in my chest, and I didn’t dare name them. The tingly sensation was only because I was sick. Once the stress was under control, my brain could process the event with a more critical eye.
As if he knew I was thinking about him, Ivan emerged from his room. Brady hopped off the couch and took off to intercept the mobster on his way to the bathroom. I thought about calling out,to make him come back, but phlegm choked in my throat and I ended up coughing.
Garh!Lack of sleep and stress combined into this frustrating—and disgusting—illness.
Instead of using the bathroom, Ivan came to the arch separating the living room from the kitchen. His critical gaze took me in before I could hide.
“Feeling any better?” he asked.
There was a softness to his voice that I didn’t like. Gone was the beast in the night, and instead, the smiling prince of darkness who’d captured my attention just a few weeks ago was there.
“I’m okay.”
