How can something so beautiful be so lethal?
Everything about him is hypnotic. The way those bourbon eyes remind me of melted caramel on a fall day. The way his broad shoulders stretch the material of his impeccable suit. The way the dark ink embedded in his skin peeks through the glaze of red on his hands and beneath the collar of his button-down. He is strikingly and dangerously handsome.
His other hand, calloused and hard, moves to cup my neck to hold me still. They are the hands of a man who inflicts pain and cruelty on whoever crosses him.
I happen to be a bystander who got caught in the crossfire.
“Do it,” I challenge. “You’ll have innocent blood on your hands.” I’m doubting it would be the first time. “But once you realize you are wrong about me, I don’t think it would put a dent in your sympathy, which clearly doesn’t exist. You’d be doing me a favor anyway.”
Those balls of fire in his eyes bounce between mine; I assume they are carefully dissecting my words. Hewouldbe doing me a favor. I’m so fucking exhausted from running. I may still have a family, but what does it matter since I can’t see them anyway?
His eyes narrow, analyzing mine before he releases my nape and takes a step back. “You don’t even know me, Miss Hannaford.”
Somehow, collecting a little bit of strength, I lean over, pinning him in place as we stand off. “Likewise, Captain.”
He twirls the knife again, entrancing me with the soft and precise movements of the blade spinning in the light. “What am I supposed to do with you?” There’s a subtle hint of teasing blended with his sigh. Barely, but it's there, enough to loosen the imaginary shackles imprisoning me in place.
“Let me go.”
“No can do, darling. I don’t trust you. But I won't hurt you. Not yet anyway.”
“I just watched you stab a man. You thinkItrustyou?” I toss back at him.
He grips the knife's handle to stop its movements, slicing through the air. Our eyes dance, his jaw tensing. Several heartbeats pass before he rakes a hand over that cropped beard. I wonder what it would feel like between my—
Not the time, Kate.
He props his hands on his hips. “Are you prepared to do whatever it takes to prove that this is a coincidence?”
My heart patters obnoxiously. “Depends.”
“One month.”
My eyes lift to the ceiling in confusion. Huh?
When they settle on him again, his face is twisted into a scowl. “If you want to escape with your life, I need you under surveillance for one month.”
I wipe my hands over my eye sockets. This must be a dream. There’s no way he’s suggesting what I think he is. When I put my hands down, he’s standing closer, all brooding with his thick arms folded across his chest.
A nervous, post-crying laugh bubbles out of me. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I have a job.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Deadpan, I can’t hide my disbelief. “Will you now?” His firm nod doesn’t instill any confidence in me. “No. I’m not going to let you hold me hostage for something I didn’t do.”
“You’ve got two options, Kate.” He presses the tip of his blade against his pointer finger, rotating the knife. I watch in fascination, wondering if he’ll draw his own blood. “One, you end up with this knife silencing your heart before we toss you to the bottom of the ocean during our next lobster run.” What the hell kind of lobster business is this guy running, where he murders people when he doesn’t get answers? “Two, you come with me for a month and leave with your life if you're not related to this clusterfuck I’m dealing with. I need to be certain you aren’t tied to whoever is fucking with my family's business.”
Realization starts to dawn on me. Between this psychopath covered in blood and the suffocating concrete walls, I almost forgot where I am. He sheathes his knife, drawing my attention to the Glock attached to his hip. It’s as if he knew the knife would petrify me more.
“You said ‘family’s business’.” The lump in my throat expands as I try to ignore the other weapon. “Who is your family?”
Out of all the things I thought might kill me today, it isn’t him saying, “I’m Preston Lachlan.”
TEN | PRESTON
“As in Lachlan Park.” It isn’t a question; she’s saying it out loud to process. Those bright eyes tinged with red from crying, swirl with questions as she gazes ahead, absentmindedly.
She’s even beautiful when she cries. I’m not sure why the thought of that pisses me the fuck off.
