“No,” I tell him. And I grab my Swiss army knife, turn, and walk away, out of the room, needing to be away from him. Needing to figure out these strange new feelings. To manage my disappointment at his rejection.
20
Dante
Fuck.
This is my fault.
I watch her walk away, wondering what the fuck it is I think I’m doing. Bringing her in here, standing so close, looking at her the way I did after what happened that night.
No wonder she’s confused.
I adjust the crotch of my pants. Because I meant what I said. I can’t let what happened the other night happen again. There’s a very delicate line that divides me from the monsters. I’ve been toeing it. I need to step back because my cock got the wrong idea having her pressed up against me like that and I almost obliterated that line.
But now isn’t the time to analyze this. Because inside, one of my men is lying on the kitchen floor with his head half blown off. They ambushed us. And I wonder what Jericho St. James had to do with it. Because it’s fucking convenient that I was with him when it happened. Convenient what his last words to me were.
Mother. Fucker.
I walk out of the bathroom, grab the duffel bag from under the table of clothes, stash a pile inside. In the kitchen I find Matthaeus laying a blanket over the body. I walk toward him, crouch down to help. I lay one hand on the dead man’s chest. Micah. A kid. I close my eyes for a moment, apologizing, saying a little prayer even though I don’t believe in any god. Such a cruel world could not have a god.
“I’ve already called to get someone in here to pick him up, but we should go.”
I nod. “Where are the others?”
“Outside.”
“Mara?” I find I have to look away when I ask him.
“Getting changed. The clothes you’d ordered had come. Someone had carried them in.”
“How did they find us?” I ask as we straighten, and a bedroom door opens. We both turn to find Mara walking out wearing a pair of dark skinny jeans, a black sweater, and a pair of combat boots. Suddenly she looks older. Not so much like the lost girl I know she is, but like a woman. I wonder if she realizes her appeal and think maybe I should have bought her baggy, oversized clothes. But I chose these on purpose. Wanting her to feel safe, secure, in command of herself. I wanted her to feel like a woman. Not a lost little girl. Not under anyone’s control. Even if there is a deviant part of me that wants her under mine.
She stops mid-step when she sees me, and I swallow hard. It takes a moment for my mind to shift from remembering how her ass felt pressed against my hardening cock to remembering what I said. Because I meant it. If I touch her, she will yield to me. And then I’d be just like the rest of the monsters who have ruled her life for fifteen years.
And so, I straighten, narrow my gaze, and cut off any emotion, any warmth. I tell myself it’s for her own good.
Her face morphs from neutral to confused, to hurt and then finally, goes cold. She takes a step toward us, gaze locked on mine, and I see how the sapphire of her eyes has turned to ice.
Good. It’s what I want. What we both need.
I clear my throat, shift my gaze to the large shopping bag in her hand. More clothes.
“Ready?” Matthaeus asks.
She nods to him.
Matthaeus goes first and I wait for her to pass me. I don’t speak a word when she does. And I don’t let my gaze fall to her ass for more than a split second as I follow her out.
Matthaeus opens the trunk of his waiting SUV and puts his bag in. I reach out to take Mara’s bag but when our hands touch, in that brief instant, there’s a spark of energy, an electrical current passing between us. Before I can remind myself that electricity kills, she pulls her hand away, clutching it like it’s been burnt. I get it.
I load her shopping bag into the trunk and watch as she climbs into the backseat and Matthaeus closes the door. Once she’s inside he turns to me.
“You being careful?”
“What do you think?”
“She’s vulnerable.”
I face him squarely. “Do you think I don’t know that?”
“You’re closer to this than I am but you can’t let your emotions get the better of you.”
I grit my jaw, force myself to breathe in deeply, force myself to the matter at hand. I glance at her, seeing only her profile through the tinted glass. “How did they find her?”
“I don’t know,” he says, eyes on the two men smoking outside the warehouse. “It’s not our men. I’d bet my life on that.”