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I shook my head, refusing to accept his version of events. “I need to leave. Now.”

“And go where, exactly?” He tilted his head slightly. “To the police? To tell them what you saw—what you participated in?”

“I didn’t participate in murder.”

“But you did participate in what came after.” His voice dropped lower. “How do you think that would look to the authorities? To a jury?”

His logic was sound because I had willingly participated in what happened after the murder. No matter how I tried to explain it away, I couldn’t deny my actions.

“You’re trying to manipulate me,” I said.

“I’m stating facts,” Cain replied. “We’re connected now, whether you like it or not.”

“I won’t be your accomplice.”

“You already are. The moment you kissed me back, you made your choice.”

“That wasn’t a choice. That was…” I struggled to find the words. “A big lack of judgment.”

But even as I said it, I knew it was bullshit. He’d hit the nail right on the head and there wasn’t much I could say or do to disprove his point. Because he was right, I did make the choice to participate fully in everything that occurred directly between us in the alleyway and it was something I couldn’t stop thinking about. Yes, the circumstances under which we came together made me replay the scene, but if I’d just isolated us having sex for the first time without everything else around it, it still was absolutely amazing.

I’d made a choice and, in that moment, some part of me had surveyed the scene before me and had selected a direction. That direction just so happened to be that even after seeing the knife, the wound, the man whose blood lay on the ground, I still reached for him anyway.

It was as if the paralysis due to fear or being overwhelmed had fled the premises and in its place was desire and the need to have my sexual needs met immediately versus doing the right thing. For someone who’d spent their entire adult life around this image of competency and being clear-headed, this didn’t make any sense. I’d focused on being the kind of woman who knew her own mind and trusted her own instincts to make good decisions under pressure. And yet I did this.

Cain’s lips curled into a smile. “Call it whatever helps you sleep at night, Sutton. But we both know what happened in that alley wasn’t one-sided.”

I felt tears threatening and blinked them back furiously. I refused to cry in front of him. “I need to go home.”

“And you will. On my plane, this afternoon. And that’s the end of this discussion.”

I wanted to scream. The self-satisfied expression on Cain’s face made my blood boil, but he had me trapped and he knew it. Any defense I might have had evaporated the moment we fucked last night.

“Fine,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “This afternoon.”

Cain looked satisfied that I agreed. “Good. We’ll leave at three. That gives you time to get yourself together.”

“Get myself together?” I laughed at the absurdity of it all. “After witnessing a murder?”

“After witnessing justice,” he corrected. “Bradley violated my trust and disrespected you. The punishment fit the crime.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “That’s not how the world works.”

Cain reached for me and grabbed my wrist before I could process what was happening. He kissed the inside of my wrist before I could pull away. “It’s how my world works. And now it’s how yours works too.”

16

CAIN

The ice in my Scotch had melted twenty minutes ago. If that wasn’t a sign I should have been in bed, I didn’t know what would be. Then again, when I checked my watch for the billionth time tonight, this time it showed that it was two forty-seven in the morning. Six hours of sleep was something I always strived for but tonight, it eluded me entirely.

I loosened my tie and I glanced at my jacket that I’d draped over the arm of a chair where I’d tossed it an hour ago, which was something I usually didn’t do. I hung and disposed of my clothing properly among other things, yet here I was, disheveled at almost three in the morning, not even remotely close to ready for bed.

It was because even though I’d dropped Sutton back in D.C. hours ago and had returned home, my mind was still in that alleyway near 583 Park Avenue. I’d always had a strong business reason for carrying out certain activities, but I’d shifted this into a whole new terrain.

I’d killed before. I didn’t make it a habit so it was only when necessary. Each time had been a calculated decision to fix a problem that required a permanent solution. Declan handled the logistics, and within hours it was as if the person had never existed.

But I hadn’t killed Bradley because he was a business problem. I’d killed him because of what he’d said about Sutton.