Chapter Seven
The room was one of the best. Even though Boss was pissed off, he knew better than to set Priest up in one of the shithole rooms. Just spending the night in this place was bad enough. He walked around, checking out the furnishings and wondering how many women had been fucked on that mattress. Priest glanced out the window to the street below, trying to pull a plan together while still processing what had just happened downstairs.
He hated the fact he’d been played—even Killian was in on this. Priest had been dead set on finding Cleo no matter how much of a blood trail was left in his wake. Her disappearance had all been one of Boss’s games, a punishment for not being a good little boy.
But there was more to it. That tracker in her purse was from the police station, so the mafia knew where he lived. And Boss wasn’t the one to put out a hit on Cleo’s head. He was just punishing Priest for not following protocol. With everything going on, he didn’t even have time to do his own research into the name Boss had given him. The preliminary check came up with nothing. He’d been waiting a lifetime for that lead. Once Priest found that motherfucker, he’d end him slowly.
“It’s better than I expected,” Cleo said.
He’d been too focused on planning his escape and trying to figure everything out that he forgot about the reason he was here in the first place.
“No amount of housekeeping can make up for the fact this is a whore house.”
She shrugged. “We don’t have much choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” He paced the room. The only person in the world who knew his story was Boss. So it pissed him off that he was treating him like a child, even assigning a babysitter to keep tabs on him. Priest was starting to regret being part of Killer of Kings. He felt underappreciated after all the blood he’d spilled in the name of Boss’s empire.
But he did have a name.
Right now, that token from Boss was the only thing keeping him from grabbing Cleo and getting the fuck out of Dodge. Priest needed that name. Needed his revenge.
“Are we not staying here?” she asked.
He sat in the armchair. Cleo Bennet had become entangled in his reclusive life. He should be more upset. She looked at him like he was some kind of savior. But he was far from it.
Priest had been helpless to help his loved ones decades ago. That trauma made him into the beast he was today. Now this girl with the blonde hair and big blue eyes looked to him for direction, for comfort … and he wanted to be everything she needed.
He didn’t realize how much until now.
The past weeks felt like a lifetime, and he didn’t want to let her go.
He wouldn’t.
There was no turning back now. She’d infiltrated his impenetrable layers, and he couldn’t live without her after having her underfoot for so long. He was falling for her, even though he refused to admit the fact even to himself.
“We’ll stay the night. Keep Boss happy. But I’m not partnering with Harb.”
“What about the safe house?”
Priest shook his head. “I’m not leaving you there. I don’t trust those places. You’re safest with me.”
“Okay.”
He immediately made eye contact with her, shocked she wasn’t giving him attitude. She looked lost, fragile, and all his protective instincts came alive. And more than that.
“You can take the bed,” he said.
She frowned. “You can’t sit in a chair all night.”
“I can always get another room close by.” He stood up, and she rushed toward him, putting the flat of her hand against his chest. He glanced down to where she made contact. He never let anyone touch him. If they did manage, it was usually the last thing they remembered.
Cleo’s touch was different.
“Please don’t go.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to be alone. I’m … scared,” she said.