“Let me go!” I snarl, throwing my best daggered glare.
“No.”
“You—you—you shamrock-sucking son of a?—”
“Creative.” He simpers, cocking his head. “But no.”
I struggle again, my chest heaving, repeating from last night, “This doesn’t happen. This doesn’t happen!”
He raises a brow. “And yet, here we are.”
“You can’t just handcuff me and?—”
“I can.” He crosses the distance, then trails his fingers slowly down my bound arms, testing the cuffs like he’s admiring his work. “And I did. Now, be a good girl and rest. I’ll check on ye in a bit.”
I snap my teeth, but he turns and walks toward the door.
“Liam!” I shout. “Liam, I swear to God, if you don’t let me go right now?—”
The door clicks shut.
I flop back against the pillows, groaning in frustration.
This doesn’t happen.
But it is happening.
And I have no idea what to do about it.
I’ve been staring at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity.
The cuffs bite my wrists, not painfully, but I’m still stuck here. Handcuffed to my own bed. By a mafia boss. Who made me breakfast. And read my diaries. And stole my sex toys.
My life has officially jumped the rails.
From somewhere in the apartment, I hear the faint clatter of dishes. He’s doing dishes like some domestic god with a criminal record.
I should be furious. Iamfurious.
But there’s also this traitorous part of me which is…impressed? No. Not impressed. That’s not the word. Intrigued, maybe. Awed. Or just losing my mind.
Definitely losing my mind.
A sharp knock at the front door makes me freeze. The sound of running water stops. Liam’s footsteps—measured, careful—approach the front door.
Another knock. Louder.
“Lex?” A male voice calls through the door. “Elexia, I know you’re in there. Your car’s out back.”
My blood runs cold.Brett.
No. Nonono. Not now. Not like this.
The deadbolt slides open, and my heart lurches into my throat.
“Liam!” The word splinters on the way out. “Liam, don’t?—”
Don’t let him in!
