Page 75
He leans in close, lips brushing my ear. “You want to act like a criminal, Louisiana? Then you’ll get treated like one.”
The cuffs are snug, the metal biting in just enough to remind me I’m not in control anymore. But it’s not the cold press of steel that makes my breath catch—it’s him. The way he leaned in close, voice dark and low, brushing the shell of my ear like he owned the right to speak straight into my blood.
You want to act like a criminal, Louisiana? Then you’ll get treated like one.
It shouldn’t have hit like it did. Shouldn’t have curled itself around the knot already twisting in my gut, pulled tight by everything I’ve said and done and wanted. But there it is—still echoing, still clinging to my skin like the heat of his body never left.
He slides into the front seat a moment later, tension radiating off him in waves. His hands grip the wheel like he needs it to anchor him, knuckles pale, shoulders high and tight with something sharp. His chest rises and falls, slow but heavy, as if he’s trying to wrestle himself down from whatever edge I dragged him to.
Still, I can’t shut up.
“Let me the fuck out, you big bastard!” I snap, the words tumbling out like sparks. I twist against the cuffs, not to escape, not really—more just to feel something, to make sense of this burning in my chest.
He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t flinch. Just shifts his gaze to the mirror and meets my eyes with that maddening calm he gets when he’s two seconds from snapping. His lips curl into a wicked smile.
“That’s one.”
I still. Just for a moment.
“One what?” I bite out, even though my voice isn’t quite as steady now. “You keeping score?”
The metal divider between us looms larger all of a sudden. Cold. Impersonal. Like I’m a stranger to him now. Like I pushed one step too far.
I yank at the cuffs, hard. The steel scrapes my skin, a flash of pain I welcome.
“One, two, three—bitch, get these cuffs off me!” The words tear from my throat, half fury, half something hungrier. Louder than I mean for them to be. Not a demand so much as a dare
His laugh is low, guttural. It slips through the car like smoke, thick and slow and full of something wicked.
“Keep it up, brat,” he growls, eyes flicking to me in the mirror, sharp and glittering. “That ass’ll be purple by the time I’m done with you.”
“Fuck you,” I snap, squirming against the cuffs biting into my wrists. “You’re not touching me, or that damn nightstick’s going straight up your ass.”
His mouth curves in a wicked grin that’s pure sin. “We’ll see about that, little viper.”
My blood boils and sings all at once.
God help us both.
Chapter Twenty-Two
FUCK A SAFEWORD
HENRY
Stupid, reckless fucking woman.
Of all the God damn stunts she could’ve pulled, this one takes the whole damn cake, plate and all. Do I blame her? No. Truth is, if it were me, I probably would've done the same. But that’s not what has me spiraling. That’s not what’s got my chest squeezed tight like someone’s got a fist wrapped around my heart.
I have one fucking job. Keep her and Dallas safe. That’s it. That’s all I need to do to breathe. And she—God help me—she goes and gets into a bar fight with that washed-up, venom-spitting excuse for a mother who should’ve never been allowed to raise a damn goldfish, let alone two girls.
What if she’d been hurt?
What if I walked in too late, and all I found was blood and silence?
I’m not Maddox. I’m not the one who knows how to carry bodies like they weigh nothing. I’m not built for tragedy—I’m not built to cradle the girl I love in my arms while she bleeds out and slips away. I’m not fucking built to lose her.
What about Dallas? Sweet, tough-as-nails Dallas. Did she even think about him before going full Andre the fucking Giant? Did she think what it might do to that kid if something happened to her?
