“He wants to stay in my apartment!”
“Would it be so bad?” Her mouth curves. “A walking crime scene who cooks and earns his keep? Even with broken ribs, a man like that has…utility.”
“Utility?” I squeak.
“And virility.”
“What the what?!”
“Good gracious, child. Are you a parrot tonight?”
Cheeks burning, I clamp my mouth shut, shifting my weight.
“What is it now?” Her gaze pins me in place.
“Nothing.”
“Lexie,” she warns.
I cover half my face with my hand. “He…um…he took myspecialthings.”
Nana lifts a brow. Then understanding hits, and she laughs again.
“It’s not funny!” My voice is a pathetic whine. The uncomfortable, hot ache inside me grows. “He said I wouldn’t need them anymore.”
Her laughter fades to something nostalgic. “Not all undercover trysts were unpleasant, Sweet Pea. Especially with the naughty boys.”
“I am not undercover, Nana! I’m not trained for this, any of it,” I gesture wildly at my body with my floral-print sweater, my complete lack of ‘femme fatale’ energy. “What if he?—?”
“He won’t,” she cuts me off, firm and sharp.
“How do you know?”
“I know.” A shadow passes over her features. A ghost of the woman who once navigated the world’s deadliest circles. “He may dootherthings. Things I’m sure you’ll enjoy. But not that. For now, all you need to do is be the charming, sweet girl he can’t help but keep around.”
I leave Nana’s house an hour later, shell-shocked and feeling like the world has been tilted on its axis.
The drive home is a blur with my stomach doing somersaults and Nana’s words on loop in my head.
Sure. I’ll just go in, apologize, and maybe he’ll leave, vanish into the night.
Pulse thumping in my head, I slowly turn the key…and unlock the door.
Oh, shit. The living room is empty. The open handcuffs dangle from the radiator.
My spine prickles, chilled by fear.
“Liam?” I whisper.
Silence.
Suddenly, a large, calloused hand wraps around my waist, jerking me back. My spine slams against a hard chest, and a palm clamps over my throat—not squeezing, just firm enough to remind me who holds the power.
He cages me, his chest a wall of muscle at my back.
“You were a naughty, naughty girl, Lexie Darlin’.” The Irish lilt sounds like a sharpened blade.
Air won’t reach my lungs. The cold, terrible realization that I am no longer in control twists my stomach.
