Sully’s palm grips my shoulder. “Killian.”
My jaw clenches as I turn to face him.
His gaze searches my expression, brows pushing down. “What’s goin’ on?”
I blow out a breath. “That was Dr. Sam.”
On a half-chuckle, half-puff of disbelief, he says, “No.” His grin grows wider. “What the bleedin’ hell does she need a job dancin’ for?”
“No idea.” I can tell he’s replaying her performance in his head and a flare of something dark and uncomfortable squeezes my chest again. I want to wipe her dance from his brain. “So, no, I won’t be hirin’ her.”
His smile fades and his eyes narrow. “I don’t understand why not. If she wants to dance, let her. She was brilliant. Think of the money she’d bring in for private shows.”
He’s right, of course. I should be jumping at the chance to have a golden filly in the stable like her. I rub my chest in discomfort. “I’ll think about it,” I say, just to end the conversation.
Sully mumbles something about being a daft prick, but I ignore him.
Chapter 11
Samantha
Ichecked on Mac tonight and stitched up a few soldiers at Sandro’s house who’d gotten in a tussle with one of the local gangs. Now I’m pacing my apartment, trying to decide what to do. The idea that Michael has found me is like a seed that has taken root in my brain, and every day it grows, threatening to choke the breath from me. If I can’t make money dancing for Killian, I need to find another way. There can’t be any paperwork. No jobs that require my social security number or fake driver’s license, no loans. The prickling starts in my eyes. Maybe I could ask Sandro for a loan? I scoff. Sure, get in debt to a mafia boss. That’s a great idea.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I will not cry. I will think. I will plan. I will find a way for my daughter to be safe.
A sharp knock on the door startles me. I freeze.
Would Michael knock? Or would he just bust down the door?
The knock comes again. More insistent. Oh God, why haven’t I bought a gun. Or just asked Sandro for one? I glance around and see the butcher knife laying where I left it after cutting my turkey sandwich in half.
I tiptoe over and grip it in my trembling hand, then make my way over to the door. There’s not even a peep hole. I lay my ear against it, trying to listen for a sound, a voice, anything to tellme who it is. Maybe it’s a pizza delivery and they have the wrong apartment?
The pounding comes again. I squeal and jump back. Then the fear morphs to anger. “Who is it?” I yell.
“Killian. Open up.” His voice is clear through the thin door.
“Shit,” I whisper. How did he find me? What’s he doing here? I look down at myself in a white tank with no bra and pink boy-shorts. It’s hot as hell in here. Oh well, he’s seen me in less. With a deep breath, I unlock the deadbolt, undo the chain and open the door.
He’s in black cargo pants and a charcoal gray T-shirt. One hand is stretched up to hold the top of the doorframe, the other shoved in his pocket. When our eyes meet, his mouth tilts up in a lazy smile. “Hello, Vixen.” His gaze runs like molasses down my body to the large knife in my hand. “Are ya goin’ to stab me or invite me in?”
I shift my weight to my other foot and cock a hip. “Depends. What are you doing here?”
He holds my gaze. “You left without hearin’ if you got the job.”
It takes me a few seconds to process his words.The job.Is it still possible? “Right.” I step back and motion for him to come in.
He strolls inside, muscles twitch along his jawline as he glances around.
I clear my throat and return the knife to the chopping board. Folding my arms, I lean against the kitchen counter and watch as he casually walks around the place, taking it all in. His expression is neutral when he turns back to me, but I see thequestions burning in his eyes as he comes to stand on the other side of the counter.
“What are you doin’ here? I know Sandro pays you better than this.”
No one knows about Rona. I asked Sandro’s father not to tell anyone about her, and it’ll stay that way. But maybe if I can give Killian something to let him know I do need the money? Maybe he’ll give me the job then. “I have… other obligations I have to take care of.”
He nods. His eyes stay locked on me as a bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face. “And these… obligations… are why you need money?”
I can see him softening so I tell him the truth. “Yes.”
