She squirms, craning her neck to glare at me. Her cheeks are wet, her mouth twisted in a snarl. “Then why are you hurting me?”
I lean closer. “I’m not. You’re hurting yourself. And me, if you haven’t noticed.”
Her eyes dart to the blood on my forehead and harden. “Maybe you deserve it.”
I wrench my hips to the side to avoid her knee. I want to believe that after this is over, she’d regret putting my balls out of commission. “Maybe I do. But that doesn’t change the fact that some people out there want you dead. Or worse.”
Her resistance melts all at once. For a second, she’s dead weight against the wall.
“Who are they? And how do you fit in?”
I release her, but not all the way. Just in case she gets a second wind, I pin her arms at her sides, keeping her anchored. “I’m not sure. Yet.”
Her head lolls back, and she stares up at the ceiling like she might find the answer in the fan’s spinning blades. “Liar.”
Sighing, I loosen the hold a bit more. “It’s not a lie. I’m not sure. However, I could guess it’s the Falcones. They’ve got reason to hate my family. Unless you know something I don’t…?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Then I can’t be certain. The island…fucked everything up. Made a mess of the hierarchy. A dozen syndicates were represented there on neutral ground. Could be anyone. Could be everyone.”
Her body goes rigid at the mention of the island. For a few heartbeats, she’s back in the past, a kid witnessing men die in the rain.
I soften, tracing my thumb along her wrist and the frantic pulse under her skin. “We need to find out for sure. But you can’t help me if you’re…gone. If you’re too scared to think. I need you here. With me.”
Her eyes narrow, a familiar darkness flickering in them. “You need me? Is that what this is?”
I don’t answer, but the silence is its own kind of confession.
I do need her.
Telling her that? I’m not ready.
She sags forward, her hair swinging in a curtain between us. “Why did you drug me?”
The question catches me off guard. I don’t flinch, but my jaw clenches so tightly my teeth ache.
“I had to search your house and couldn’t risk you waking up and…” I trail off, because the rest of the sentence is a minefield.
I couldn’t risk you waking up and seeing me for what I really am. I couldn’t risk you wanting me when I needed to stay focused. When the alternative was so much easier.
Chloe pushes against my hands. “And?”
“And I couldn’t control myself.” I force the sharp, ugly words out. “You were a temptation I couldn’t resist when I was supposed to be working. And I can’t afford complications. So, after I gave in that first time, I took you out of the equation. That allowed me to search your house instead of fucking you all night long on every surface like I wanted to…starting with you bent over the counter and ending in your bed the next morning.”
A dazed Chloe stares at me, her lips parted.
I expect her to slap me or spit in my face or scream.
Instead, she just stands in front of me, quivering with emotion, every muscle taut.
I succumb to temptation and savagely claim her mouth.
She resists for an instant before surrendering, her teeth clashing with mine, her tongue hot and frantic in my mouth. Her hands grapple my shirt, yanking me closer. I sense that if she could crawl into my skin, she would.
I drag my hands up her arms, over her shoulders, and into her hair. I tangle the strands in my fist, tilting her head back, and exposing her throat.
I want to mark her with my bite. Remind her that she’s alive. That she survived.
