“I don’t,” she lied again.
“You do. Say it.”
Amelia’s heart pumped with a fresh flush of adrenaline. “Emory Holt.”
Studious in his fascination, he watched the way his name left her lips then settled back with a satisfied smile.
“I know more than just your name,” Amelia added defiantly. “My dad told me about the things you do.”
Emory sipped his drink with a bitter laugh. “I’m sure he did, sweetheart, but you don’t fucking know me.”
And he intended to keep it that way. He’d know every intimate inch of her being, but she could never hope to do the same. Her fear, intrigue, and desire for him unraveled and gave way to loathing.
Amelia hated his certainty, his stoic composure that claimed the upper hand, the handsome smile still soft on his lips. She summoned her bravery and pummeled him with the dirty truth, the ways she knew preciselywho he was.
“I know you had something to do with what happened last night and the innocent people who died at that party. I know you had Brian killed, and I know you’ll do the same to me. I know enough to know what kind of man you are.”
Smile wiped clean, Emory slammed his drink to the table and looked like he might come across it to beat her bloody all over again.
Good.
She’d make it easy.
Amelia gripped the armrests and shifted to the edge of her seat. Emory did the same with cheeks flame red and chest heaving.He opened his mouth to unleash vitriol, but Liam lifted a hand to intervene.
“Okay. Enough.” Liam shed his placidity as he turned to Amelia. “Think twice before you sling accusations like that. We had nothing to do with last night. How dare you accuse us of something so heinous.”
“I saved your life,” Emory added. “A little gratitude would look good on you.”
Amelia’s eyes shifted between the two men, stunned at the absolute absurdity of their demands. She understood now her father’s chimerical dream for the hard hand of justice to squeeze out the Moriartys’ last breath. For the past few years, he’d chased down a man who eluded him at every turn. Amelia sat in front of that same man and pegged him for more than just his name.
“You’re a monster.”
Hands on his knees, Emory’s knuckles flushed white, though he didn’t stir. His visage darkened as if a shadow passed over, but he spoke quietly for only the room to hear because someone hovered outside the alcove’s veil.
“You don’t know what a true monster is, the kind who want to rip you apart and watch you suffer through every breath, the kind who want you, specifically, Amelia Havick. I’ll happily send you to them and we’ll see then if you still think I’m a monster. I don’t give a fuck what happens to you, if you live or die.”
He leveled his furious gaze at her, and Amelia’s chest tightened, but she didn’t look away. She also didn’t take Liam’s advice to mind Emory’s temper because there was a glaring flaw in his fuming diatribe.
“If I’m nothing to you, then why come after me?”
Emory’s lip twitched and nostrils flared. The longer Amelia refused to kowtow, the more incensed he became. If that was her only stand, she’d take it.
Tension infused the space between them, and the room stifled with rising heat. Locked at the eyes, neither looked away. Someone had to back down.
It wouldn’t be her.
She refused.
So did he.
“Answer me,” Amelia demanded and leaned in close. “Emory Holt,” she added, soft and artificially sweet.
Brows furrowed, he looked equally confused and aroused.
“Don’t play that game with me,” Emory warned and met her ingress with just a sliver of space between them. “You won’t like how it ends.”
“You don’t know what I like.”
