Fuck.
I did something wrong.
“Okay,” she says. The word comes out hesitant, a little unsure.
“We can go eat in my car, if you’d rather,” I suggest, trying like hell to fix whatever it is I did wrong. “Or go to your place? Or?—”
“No,” she cuts me off, and this time, the smile really does reach her eyes. “It’s fine. Let’s go to your place. But if you’ve got clown décor, I’m walking right out.”
“Kitten,” I say, relief flooding me so hard I could float. “The only circus in my apartment is me.”
chapter nine
WILLOW
The elevator glidesup so smoothly it doesn’t feel real. For a second I wonder if I’ve died and am being delivered straight to heaven—or, more likely, hell. Not that I believe in hell.
When the doors whisper open, I step out into a hallway so pristine it practically sneers at me.
White marble floors. Polished chrome fixtures. A hushed silence that feels like money itself lives here. My boots click too loud against the tile. Not-Kade presses a keycard against the penthouse door. It clicks open, and he gestures for me to go first.
I step inside, but only make it six feet deep before I stop to take it in.
“Damn,” I mutter before I can stop myself. “This place looks like it’s waiting for a realtor to finish staging it.”
It’s gorgeous, sure. Floor-to-ceiling windows swallowing the neon lights of the Strip. There’s an open-concept kitchen gleaming with stainless steel appliances and expensive marble countertops. The living room boasts a leather sectional that’s definitely Italian, arranged at the perfect angle toward the view, not the TV. The marble floors are so polished they practically reflect the city skyline back at me.
But it’s cold. Sterile. Not one framed photo. Not a plant. No scuff marks or evidence that anyone actuallyliveshere.
Not-Kade sets the takeout bag on the counter and quirks a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, it’s… off, I know.”
I snort. “If you were going for luxury mausoleum, you nailed it.”
His head whips to me, his eyes wide. “Is being a mind reader part of the whole witchy vibe? Because a mausoleum is exactly what I’ve thought of it as.”
I smirk. “No, but what else would anyone call this place?”
Something flickers across his face, and for the first time tonight, I see a crack. He leans against the counter, folding those ridiculous arms, muscles straining against his shirt. “It doesn’t feel like home,” he admits. His voice is low, stripped of the usual swagger. “It’s just… a place to sleep. A place to hide.”
That sobers me fast. I glance back at the view, at the glittering Strip reflected in the windows. For anyone else, this penthouse would be a dream. For him? It sounds like a cage lined in leather and glass.
He’s lonely here.
I want to poke fun, lighten it up, but the lump in my throat surprises me. He could have invited me here to impress me, to flex. Instead, he’s admitting he hates it. That feels as intimate as if he’d stripped naked in front of me.
“Come on,” he says, shaking it off and rustling the takeout bag. “Let’s eat before the chips get too soggy.”
We settle at the massive island, opening containers. The smell of cheese, jalapeños, and pico fills the air, chasing away the sterile vibe just a little. I scoop up the delicious mess with chips that aren’t too soggy yet, and keep sneaking glances at him.
He’s not pushing. Not crowding me. Just… being.
But that leaves silence for my head to fill, and now it won’t shut up.
He’s here. He’s real. And he’s still looking at me like he wants me, after watching me kill a man with his own eyes.
I’ve spent the past two weeks waiting for my world to implode. I scrubbed the shop clean until my hands blistered. I bleached my truck bed twice. I checked, rechecked, andtriple-checkedevery trace of Travis Bell. I was ready to run at the first sign of cops, my go bag never more than a breath away.
But Not-Kade hasn’t turned me in.
