“Aye.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, and when he does, the muscles around his shoulders bunch, the fabric of his shirt pulling taut across his chest. He's not just big, he's powerful, all corded muscle and coiled strength, with eyes that tell me he's not afraid to use it.
“I did take you.” No denial, no justification. Just matter-of-fact, like he's confirming he picked up milk at theshops. “We covered why.”
“You can't just…” I'm on my feet before I realize I'm moving. He's moving too, not toward me, but sideways, blocking my path with that massive frame, like he doesn't want to hurt me but won't let me leave either. It's subtle and practiced, the movement of someone who knows exactly how dangerous he is.
“Let me go. Marcus will?—”
He cuts me off with a scoff. “Marcus will do fuck all.” A muscle tics in his jaw. “Marcus thinks you're on a trip,” he says quietly, his rough voice dropping even lower. “You've asked for some time, and in a bit I'll check your phone to see if he's been gracious enough to grant it or if you'll have to push a bit outside your comfort zone.”
He frowns. “My guess is not so much, but at least he won't come looking for you. Sit down, Bianca.”
“Stop saying my name!”
“No.”
“You don't know me.”
“I do.” He moves to the chair across from the sofa, lowering himself into it with surprising grace for a man so big. The wood creaks under his weight. Those silver eyes pin me in place. “I've known you for a long time now. And the fact that you don't know me doesn't erase that.”
My pulse is hammering in my ears.
“That's ridiculous. I've never seen you before.” It's a test,though, to see what he'll say, because he is somehow… familiar. I just can't place him.
“You have.” His gaze is steady and unwavering, and I notice for the first time that his eyes aren't just gray—they're ringed with a darker charcoal that makes them almost hypnotic. “You just don't remember. And I said sit down. Things will go much better for you if you do what you're told.”
“Is that a threat?”
I'm trying to be brave, but my heart still thumps in my chest. The way he could so easily overpower me and has.
Would he hurt me if I disobeyed?
He gives me a pointed look that sends a shiver down my spine, and I'm not entirely sure it's unwanted. Taking a step toward me, he holds my chin between his fingers, his eyes locked on mine.
“Sit. Down.”
My legs feel unsteady, and I don't want to appear weak in front of him. Sitting feels like giving in, like obeying, like accepting this reality.
But I'm wobbly and hungry, and standing just out of sheer stubbornness doesn't serve me.
So I begrudgingly sit, ignoring the way his low growl of approval makes me feel.
“Six years ago,” he says huskily. He leans back in the chair, and the firelight plays acrosshis tattooed arms, making the Celtic patterns seem to move. “Outside of Tessa's Bistro. There were a couple of lads who came looking for trouble. Tried to take you, didn't they? I sent them on their way.”
The memory surfaces like it's been dragged from deep water.
Yes, my god, I do remember. How could I forget? He was vicious and violent, and he… he saved me. I've thought of him a hundred times since.
But now I'm looking at him, really looking, and I see it. The same massive frame, the same lethal grace. He had a bit more hair then, dark and cropped short, but those eyes… those silver eyes I'd remember anywhere.
“That was you?”
“Aye.”
I shake my head and force myself to breathe. “That doesn't explain this. You don't just kidnap someone because you helped them once.”
He leans forward, draws in a deep breath, his elbows on his knees, and I see his split knuckles up close now, scabbed over, fresh and recent.
