I jerk forward in my seat as he slams his foot down on the brake and flicks the hazards on. Horns blare around us, and it’s a miracle the car behind didn’t rearend us. Joshua’s hand is wrapped around my throat before I’ve had time to process him unbuckling his seat belt and lunging at me. “Do not mention that fucking bitch in my presence ever again unless you have a death wish.” Vitriol drips from his lips and spews from his eyes.
I grab his wrist, scratching at his skin as he tightens his grip and squeezes my throat. Panic surges through my veins as I struggle to breathe. Joshua is like the devil incarnate as he glowers at me with visible hatred. I’m not even sure he’s fully with it.
Someone bangs on the driver’s side window, and Joshua snaps out of it. My hands gently clasp my sore neck as I gasp loudly, trying to drag enough air into my lungs so I can breathe.Joshua grabs his gun from the glove pocket and lowers the window.
“What the—woah, buddy, put that thing away.” I move my hand toward my leg while watching the interaction with the poor sucker who thought he could challenge Joshua for stopping in the middle of traffic like the freaking lunatic he is. Joshua prods the man’s chest with the muzzle of his gun as I stealthily unsheathe the dagger strapped to my lower leg.
“I’m in a real shitty mood, and I don’t need much incentive to pull the trigger, so get the fuck out of my face,” he snaps at the terrified man.
He’sin a shitty mood? He wasn’t the one almost strangled. Asshole.
“Fucking psycho,” the man shouts as he tears off before Joshua can put a bullet in his skull.
I always thought Caleb was the unhinged twin, but I’m reassessing my beliefs now. “Was that really necessary?” I rasp, hiding my dagger under my right thigh.
“It’s your fault,” he says in a detached tone, shutting the window and putting his gun away.
“Real mature, asshole. How old are you again?”
“Shut. Up.” He starts the engine, and I make my move.
Joshua turns rigid in his seat as steel presses against his crotch. Horns blare behind us again as he lowers his gaze to where I’m holding my dagger snug against his dick. I glare at him, pouring every ounce of hatred I currently feel into the look as I push against him with my blade. “If you try anything like that ever again, I’ll chop your dick off and stuff it down your throat. I don’t care you’re a don and I might lose my life. I’ll do it.”
How fucking dare he put his hands on me without permission.
He could have strangled me!
Fucking psycho prick.
A muscle pops in his jaw as he levels me with a lethal look. “Point made.” His eyes bore into mine as we face off for a few tense seconds.
“Good. Don’t forget it,” I say, retracting my dagger and re-sheathing it as he finally resumes driving.
Silence descends as we both stew for the rest of the journey. I take the opportunity to read the paperwork in the envelope Massimo gave me. Emma Brown is my new name. Boring but inconspicuous. Brown is the third most common last name in the city, so it’s a good choice. My pic on the ID has been doctored to show me with red hair and green eyes, and it’s how I’m going to look by the end of the day.
“Where are we?” I blurt, unconsciously breaking the silence twenty minutes later when he signals to turn into an underground parking lot. I look up at the tall modern building facing onto Central Park with curiosity.
The jerk ignores me, so I decide not to speak to him again.
I follow him out of the car and into the mirrored elevator, watching as he punches a code into the mounted keypad. I inspect my throat in the mirror, hoping it’s not going to bruise. It’s still tender, but I don’t think there is any permanent damage.
We get out on the highest level, entering a small square lobby with painted black walls. A plush gold carpet is soft underfoot, leading to two glossy black doors, one on either side of the space. A fancy table housing a bunch of white roses is propped against the wall in front of us. A framed work of modern art is mounted above the table, looking like it probably cost a small fortune. Overhead spotlights provide adequate illumination as I trail Joshua to the door on the left.
He presses his thumb to the digital panel on the door, and it opens with a subtle click. Joshua steps aside to let me enter first.
This hallway is wider and longer than the one outside, decorated in cool grays, whites, and blues. My eyes are out on stalks when I reach the main room, widening as I drink in my surroundings. To my right is a decent-sized kitchen with marble counters and expensive appliances. Four stools rest against one side of the island unit. Apart from a fruit bowl and a complicated-looking coffee machine, there is nothing else out on the counters. Almost like it’s not lived in.
“Keep up,” the asshole says, striding past the kitchen and me. I flip him the bird behind his back. Childish but hugely satisfactory.
A long wooden table and ten sleek chairs with gray velvet backs rest alongside the first floor-to-ceiling window. Light floods the space from all angles, and I wish I could stop to admire the view of the park, but the dickhead is powering through the living area, heading for the winding staircase at the rear.
I rush past the L-shaped beige leather couch positioned in front of an electric fire. On the other side of the large room is a small library and reading area with rows of shelving and comfy tub chairs. Colorful throws, cushions, rugs, and artwork lift the otherwise stark space, elevating it into something classy but homey.
This can’t be where Joshua lives, but it was my initial assumption when he first opened the door.
“Gia. Get up here!” Annoyance threads through his tone as he shouts down to me from the next level. His arms are resting on a glass half-wall that peers down on the floor below. A firm scowl is etched on his face, but it still doesn’t detract from his hotness.
Unfortunately.
