He crosses his arms, his biceps straining against the shortsleeves of his V-neck. His scowl gradually returns, his heavy brow furrowing. “It’s less about the fact that you’ve listened so far and more about the fact that I know what goes on in that little head of yours. You think I don’t know you’re plotting an escape? That you plan on leaving the place upstate as soon as you think you can get away? I know how troublemakers like you think, girl.
“I’m well aware you still don’t grasp the deep shit you’re in. The very real fucking danger the Bratva poses, and howI’mthe only one who’s kept you safe thus far. So if it sounds like I’m pestering you about behaving yourself, that’s the fuck why. Make sense?”
His tone is so rough, blunt, and condescending that it sets me off.
Irritation flares up inside me, a hot pulse coursing straight through me.
It’s not enough that I’ve compliedorthat I told him I’d go to the stupid place upstate—hehasto remind me how much he views me as a problem to be solved.
…how he thinks I’m so weak and useless I’ll get myself killed, and how he can’t wait to be rid of me.
But even as irritation burns through me, I spin around and give him my back. I shut down like I usually do even when feeling intense emotions.
I settle for scowling to myself, jaw clenched and posture stiff.
“Don’t even think about pulling any disappearing acts, girl,” he goes on. “I mean it.”
“How many times are you going to repeat yourself?” I blurt out suddenly. I whip back around, glasses sliding so far down my nose I impatiently nudge them back up. “Go on your date, Killer. Have a fabulous evening with Bridget. I hope you do so youstopmicromanaging me!”
He bares his teeth in a deep grimace, vaguely resembling abeast who’s been pissed the fuck off. Rather than fire back a rebuttal, he snatches his wallet and keys up and strides toward the door. Only once he’s wrenched it open does he speak.
“If I come back and you’re gone,” he growls, “god help you. You’ll be in a world of fucking trouble.”
The door slams shut behind him and rattles the walls. His heavy footsteps thud the rest of the way down the hall, more aggressive sounds that emphasize his anger.
I’m fuming just as much.
I fold my arms and glare at the last spot where he stood, skin warm and thoughts racing.
Killian thinks he’s protecting me. Maybe he even believes he’s doing the right thing. But he doesn’t understand. He can’t understand.
This isn’t about me. It’s never been about me.
It doesn’t matter if he thinks upstate New York is safer, or that I can’t survive on the streets on my own.
My number one priority is Eva and getting her away from Fedorov, and I’ll doanythingto make that happen.
Includingdefying the Irish mob’s boneman who seems to think he owns me.
SEVEN
Killian
“Oh my god,is that Adam Womack?”
Bridget’s eyes go wide as saucers, her menu forgotten in her hands as she cranes her neck to stare at a table across the restaurant.
Some guy in a tailored suit is sitting there with a busty blonde who’s probably half his age. She’s laughing at something he’s said while a waiter pours them wine.
I don’t have a fucking clue who Adam Womack is, but judging by Bridget’s reaction, he’s somebody important.
“Killian, that’sAdam Womack,” she hisses, as if I didn’t hear her the first time. “He was in the biggest summer blockbuster last year. You know, the one with the car chases and the explosions? He played the spy who?—”
“I usually stick to movies before all the CGI graphics,” I interrupt bluntly. “They’re usually not so damn insufferable.”
“Oh.” A flush creeps up her cheeks and she offers an embarrassed smile. “Right. Sorry. I forgot you’re not into Hollywood. I just... it’s still so shocking to see a real celebrity in person. I mean… um, except you, obviously. But you know what I mean.”
“I’m no celebrity, Bridget.”
