Every muscle in my body locks into place all at once. The man that I’d thrown on the ground slowly gets up, an amused look cast across his face.
Slowly, I turn away from the sight of him regrouping to face the imposing figure who has a lethal weapon against my skin. The gun stays trained on me as I rotate on my heels, my eyes falling onto the most stunning man I’ve ever seen.
Oh.
I can barely breathe as I take in the sight of him. And for a long moment, I genuinely hate myself for having such an irrational response to the man who holds my life in his hand, quite literally.
He is beautiful in the way that a predator is beautiful because it’s dark and dangerous and untouchable. Tall, at least six-two with broad shoulders straining against a perfectly tailored black shirt. Dark brown hair that’s slightly mussed, strong jaw, shadowed with stubble. And his eyes — dark blue, impossibly dark, and they’re fixed on me with such an intensity that my breath catches.
Just like the bald man, he’s covered in tattoos. I can see them peeking out from beneath his collar, wrapping around his throat and across his fingers and hands, disappearing beneath his sleeves. This is him, I realize — it has to be him — the monster the boy has been so afraid of finding him.
And he is impossibly, incredibly, infuriatingly handsome. My hands curl into fists at my sides. I want to hit him, to lash out, to do something. To punch him in his all too pretty face. The urge is so strong that it takes everything I have to keep from moving.
The only thing that holds me in place is the barrel of the gun as I stare past it to him. My eyes are locked on him as his lips curve up into a smile, one that holds no warmth in it.
“Good girl.” His gaze rakes over me, assessing. “Good form on that move, however…” He leans in slightly, bending his arm to keep the muzzle of the gun pressed to my head as he does so, “… I don’t miss. So, unless you want to find out how fast I can pull this trigger, I suggest you cooperate.”
“Go to hell,” I spit the words at him before I can stop myself.
His smile widens, accompanied by a humorless laugh. “She has teeth. Feisty. I like that in a woman.” The amusement drops from his face as fast as it appeared, a cold, hard expression replacing it. “Where is he?”
“Where is who?”
“Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. You won’t win. You know exactly who I’m talking about. Small boy, nine years old, dark hair, dark eyes. My men tracked him here. Where is he?”
My heart hammers against my chest. I’m right. He is the monster.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Chloe,” Jay’s voice cuts through the tension, strained but firm. “You promised.”
I risk a glance at Jay, still held between the two men. Upon my second assessment of them, I realize they are both armed with guns as well, though theirs remain holstered, unlike the one pressed to my forehead.
“So, the lady has a name,” The melodic voice of the monster snaps my attention back to him.
“You now know mine. If you want me to tell you a thing, you’ll have to tell me yours first,” I challenge him boldly.
Something flickers in those dark blue eyes, surprise or maybe respect, I’m not sure.
“Fair enough. Basili,” he says sharply, his voice vibrating slightly. The sound of it does something to me that I don’t want to admit. “The boy is my son, and I am here to retrieve him. Now—” He presses the gun harder against my skin, causing me to sway slightly. “— where is Emmanuel?”
Emmanuel.Finally, I know the boy’s name. I blink at him, squinting my eyes slightly, confused. “Wait, he’s your son?”
“Don’t hurt her!”
Chapter Three
Chloe
The outburst in a new and unexpected voice cracks through the space like a bolt of lightning, causing us all to startle.
No. No, no, no…
The gun is forgotten. I move to look around Basili, and my heart stops. The boy — Emmanuel — is barreling toward us in his oversized pajamas.
“Go back!” I order him, desperately pointing toward the stairs. Basili turns slightly, gun still aimed at me, though he drops it a mere few inches, eyes now on the child as he runs to us and wedges his small body between us. The barrel is now pointed at my chest. Barely higher than the boy. Basili’s eyes locked on the child.
“Emmanuel…” Basili’s voice is still strong, but a hint of tenderness now lingers in it.
