Page 115 of Beautifully Twisted


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The suspicion is still there, but she turns her face up to me and kisses my palm. A move that zings down to my cock.

"And reasonable is sending me alone in a car with one guard watching from a distance?"

"You won't notice him. And I won't follow."

"Enzo..."

I kiss her forehead and step back. "Lola, just focus on having a good night with Ruby. Don't worry about what I'm up to, okay?"

She shakes her head. "Don't worry, you say? How can I not? You're always up to something when it comes to me."

"Fuck, woman. Ego much?"

Lola clamps her lips together, and I laugh.

She pouts. "Not funny."

"It is, and I'm not up to anything tonight when it comes to you. Relax and have fun."

If I just so happen to take one of the tinted-window sedans in the Syndicate's pool, it's not a big deal. Neither is it a big deal if I decide to park in Manhattan across the road from a bar that just might, by coincidence, hold Lola and Ruby.

Of course, I wait until she's in there. And then I drive across the bridge after her driver calls me.

The park appears by luck, and it's fucking prime.

I have my computer and phone to do more work on because there's a site I want to hack.

My phone buzzes.

My heart leaps as I see Lola is texting me.

Fuck. Has she spotted me?

I know the car is unassuming, but have we used it with her before?

She can't see in, can she?

Or is it that weird sixth sense I get when she's near?

Excuses flood my head.

Why work on that at home when I can be added protection? And it's the East Village, it's not that far from the Lower East Side and Cade's, so I could say... what? I parked here to meet my friend?

She's suspicious enough that it wouldn't work. Smart enough, too.

Shit.

I read the message.

Lola: Thanks, Enzo, for giving me space. I know it's hard for you, and it means everything to me to be able to trust you.

Oh, fucking hell. Trust?

I think this is worse than flung accusations.

The word "trust" leans heavily on me, threatening to crush me down flat. But I shove the guilt away.

This isn't for my pleasure.