“Why what?”
I try to fold my arms over my breasts but that’s hard to do with a bat in my hands.
“Why would you not bother to place a wish? I don’t see how me being Jonah’s brother makes a difference. "
Bewilderment takes root deep in my chest. Is he for real? "Doesn't it?" I take a step back, putting distance between us that feels woefully inadequate. "You show up at my door in the middle of the night, telling me you're going to grant my wish like some kind of fairy godfather, and I'm supposed to believe your brother has nothing to do with it? Is this some sick joke? Is he still trying to tear me down? Why does he care after two years?" He must have told Jonah about our encounter and they both wanted to have a little fun. It’s the only thing that makes sense to me, because fate wouldn’t land my wish in Drake Moses’ lap any other way.
Drake's jaw tightens, the muscle flexing beneath the shadow of stubble. "Jonah doesn't know I'm here. Jonah doesn't know anything about this. And frankly, Jonah can go to hell."
Oh.
My lips form an O of surprise and well, I have nothing to say to that but, “Yeah, I agree.”
The venom in his voice catches me off guard. It's raw and real, nothing like the controlled power I've seen from him so far. For a moment, he sounds like a man who genuinely despises his own brother, and I don't know what to do with that information.
"What's the cost?"
The question escapes me before I can think better of it, dragged out by years of learning that nothing in this world comesfree. Victor taught me that lesson well. Every kindness has a price. Every helping hand comes attached to strings that will eventually wrap around your throat.
Drake's expression shifts from an unreadable scowl to a blank slate in seconds. "We'll get to that."
Hot shame and defiance mix inside my body to cause a light sheen of sweat to form over my skin. I shove aside my false pride and press my lips together. I know beggars can’t be choosers, but I think I’m entitled to an answer all the same. "That doesn’t work for me." I plant my feet and raise my chin, refusing to be cowed by his size or his presence or the way my traitorous body keeps responding to the scent of cedar and bourbon that fills my small apartment.
"I don't want charity. I know how this works. Everything has a price. So tell me. What's yours? I’m not saying I don't want your help. I’m not stupid. I’m only asking for the price tag."
I pause and then add, “Please.”
He studies me for a long moment, his gaze tracing the lines of my face with an intensity that makes my skin prickle with awareness. I feel exposed under that stare, stripped bare in a way that has nothing to do with my thin pajamas and everything to do with the way he seems to see straight through every wall I've built around me to keep people at a distance.
"Your debt to Victor Kedrov is paid." The words fall like stones into still water, sending ripples through everything I thought I understood about this moment. "Three hundred thousand dollars was given to him tonight. You owe him nothing from this night forward."
The floor tilts beneath my feet. I reach out blindly, my hand finding the back of the couch, and I grip it hard enough to turn my knuckles white.
There’s nothing fake about the way my mouth falls toward my chest in awe and shock. "You paid it?" My voice sounds strange to my own ears, distant and hollow. "All of it? You paid all of it?"
He shifts all his two-hundred-and-something pounds to face me fully. The move only took a couple of inches, but the electricity in the room feels like someone has placed a Tesla coil in the center of the room and cranked it up.
I swallow hard and wait for his answer, unwavering.
He gives a stiff nod. "Yes."
"Why?" The word cracks on my tongue, sharp with suspicion and something that might be hope if I were foolish enough to let myself feel it. "Why would you do that? You don't know me. You don't owe me anything."
"You made a wish." He says it like it's simple. Like it explains everything. "I claimed it. That's how this works."
He’s right, of course. My brain stepped outside of reality for a second and forgot the chain of events that has placed this man in my living room.
"It all seems set up and I’m the butt of whatever joke this is."
Drake’s chest inflates with a rough grunt. "It’s not a joke. Believe me, I don’t have a funny bone in my body." He takes a step toward me, and I resist the urge to retreat. "Your debt is cleared. Victor Kedrov will never touch you or your family again. In exchange for this cleared debt, you now owe me."
"What is it that I owe you? Details, please."
Drake's eyes hold mine, unflinching. "A year of your life. You'll work for me. Live under my roof. Answer to my authority."
My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat sending shockwaves through my chest. "Work for you doing what?"
"Whatever I require." His voice drops lower, rougher, and the sound of it scrapes across my nerve endings like velvet over raw skin. "At my side during the day. In my bed, if I choose. And eventually, an heir to carry forward my legacy."
