“That sounds promising,” I say smoothly.
Dom nods once.“Perfect.You’ll start tomorrow.Samantha will take you to a client meeting.They have orders they’d like to place.I’ll make sure you have access to the full database so you can fulfill them.”
I’m going to throw up.
I’m going to kill someone.
Maybe at the same time.
Instead, I nod once, then turn and leave as quickly as I can, nauseated at myself and this position, horrified that my path has brought me here.There was a time when I thought I could handle anything this world threw at me, and that I’d seen the worst things I would ever be able to see.Friends kidnapped.Other friends killed.Lovers who betrayed me and wars on the streets of New York.
I didn’t have a fucking clue about the real world until I was dragged back to New Orleans and shown the darkest underbelly possible, though.
Even worse; I still don’t think I’ve seen the worst of it.
I make for the closest bathroom and lock myself in, then lean against the door and focus on breathing.My heart is squeezing like it’s trying to implode, my lungs refusing air and my stomach roiling as if everything is rebelling against the simple act of breathing.I can’t catch my breath, can’t hold any air in my lungs, and within moments my knees have collapsed, sending me to the cold stone floor in a heap.
God, what’s happening to me?Have I been poisoned?Did my father decided to kill me after all?I’m going to die on the floor in a fucking bathroom, without a weapon in my hand, and that’s so fucking ironic that I gasp out a laugh.
And then I take a breath.
The air is cool and welcome in my lungs, lifesaving and reassuring at the same time, and my body is so shocked that it breathes again.
And then again.
And again.
Moments later I’m breathing normally once more and my heart has resumed it’s standard rhythm.When I get to my feet, my knees act like normal knees and support me.I look up into the mirror, searching my own eyes for answers, and grasp the sink to make sure it’s real.
Not dead.I’m not dying.
I am, however, having panic attacks.And that doesn’t bode well for my ability to see this through to the end.
God, I wish Lucien was here.I’ve spent so long thinking I could do anything I wanted on my own, and now here I am realizing–possibly too late–that life is a whole lot easier with a partner.Someone to watch your back when you can’t watch it yourself.
And then hold you at night and tell you everything is going to be okay.
The thought sends a pang shooting through my heart and I put it to the side and refuse to think about it again.I need my wits about me right now, and if that means refusing to think about Lucien, that’s what I’ll do.
When I leave the bathroom, I find Simon leBanc on the other side of the door.
“Oh my God, what do you want, Simon?”I ask, before I think better of it.
Instead of answering, he grabs me and pulls me toward the stairs at the back of the house.
I fight him, positive that this is some sort of trick, but he yanks at me and keeps going, and though I’m strong, he’s significantly heavier than I am.
Shit, I’m in trouble.
I struggle harder, starting to panic now, and by the time he gets me to the door that leads into the servant’s staircase, I’m positive that I’m about to be killed.Why the fuck didn’t I put my knife in my pocket?Why don’t have I my gun?
Fucking hell, I’m going to die because I was lazy when I got dressed.
He shoves me through the door and slams it behind me, and finally starts talking.“I know you’re working with Lucien, and I know you’re trying to end the ring,” he says in a rush.“I also know where your brother is.”
I’d opened my mouth to give him some smartass question about why he didn’t say any of that two days ago, but his final statement stops me in my tracks.
Beau.
