“I doubt that very much.”
“You shouldn’t. I love that little smile of yours and the sounds you make as you come.”
“That’s not really the same thing as caring about my feelings, you know.”
He sighed and looked out across the driveway. Several of his men roamed the manicured trees and bushes with rifles slung over their shoulders like soldiers on patrol. I felt both intensely exposed and protected all at once—a feeling I was starting to get used to with him.
“Have you thought more about my offer?”
“Yes, I have.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think you’re full of shit.”
He didn’t react at all. “I know that already.”
“But I’ll do it.”
That got his attention. He slowly turned to me and ran a hand through that perfectly imperfect hair, his tongue rolling over his lips.
“You’re going to play along? Follow directions? Obey orders?”
“But firs you’re going to promise me something.”
“I already offered you anything, little doll.”
I grimaced and looked down into my lap. “From now on, you’ll protect anyone I want for as long as I’m alive.”
He let out a surprised breath. I still couldn’t meet his eye. There was too much desire there, too much anger and need all mixed together.
“Protect anyone you want for as long as you live. That’s a very big ask.”
“You said anything.”
He stepped toward me. I looked up sharply.
But he was smiling slightly. “And I meant it. I’ll give you that. Anyone you want, as many as you want, for as long as you live. But after this, there will be no more deals. You’ll be mine, Cassie. My wife.”
I nodded slowly. I understood the deal I was making: protection for Winter and anyone else in exchange for my own soul.
And my body.
Because that day down at the pool, that wouldn’t be the last time.
I knew it and he knew it.
“I understand. Husband.”
Another quirk of his lips. A butterfly thrill sparked in my stomach.
“Say that again.”
“Husband.”
He came closer. I backed away from him and raised my hands. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“You’re my wife now. I should be allowed to take my husbandly rights.”
“This isn’t ancient Rome you dick. You don’t have any husbandly rights.”
“Then you should want to give me anything I ask. What feels good to me will feel good to you.”
“Save it. I’ll play your games, but I’m not giving you anything more.”
He shook his head, teeth flashing, as he turned and walked down the porch steps. “Come with me, wife.”
I hesitated. “Where are we going?”
“We have a meeting to attend.”
I looked back at the door behind me and groaned. I almost wished I could go back inside and hide out in my little room for a while until I fully digested what this deal really meant for me, but he wasn’t slowing down, so I followed him around the front of the hose and toward a large garage in the back.
“You know I don’t do cars,” I called out.
He waved that off. “We’re not taking a car.”
I slowed and refused to follow him further. He disappeared inside and a moment later the right garage door slowly began to open.
My jaw fell open.
It was a motorcycle. Black and red and silver, sleek and shiny. The word Triumph was written on the side with the bottom of the R swooping down to cross the H at the far end. Two helmets sat on the seat, both of them matte black.
He walked over and straddled the front, holding one helmet under his arm and the other out toward me.
“Get on.”
I stared at him and burst out laughing.
He didn’t smile, only stared at me. I shook my head and almost doubled over. It took a few seconds before I regained my composure. “You’re joking, right? I can’t get in a car and you think I’ll ride a motorcycle.”
“Motorcycle isn’t a car. You’re enclosed in a car, trapped inside. I don’t know what happened to you, but clearly that’s part of the problem.”
My laughter died on my lips. “You’re being serious.”
“Get on the back, wife. We’re running late.”
“No way in hell.”
He gave me an exasperated look. “If you can’t handle it, I’ll stop. But you can ride your regular bike, so you can ride on the back of this one. Now come over here, put on this helmet, and do your duty.”
I clamped down on my anger retort and glared at him. I hated that he had a good point—I could ride my beach cruiser and a motorcycle wasn’t all that different.
Except it was sleek and fast and expensive-looking and he was the one driving.
“I’m going to die,” I said, walking over. I accepted the helmet. He pulled his down over his face. “I’m really going to die. This is going to kill me.”
“Get on.”
I shoved the helmet down over my hair. It was hot but soft and fit me perfectly.