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"I need to go home." I cross my arms over my chest and stand tall, refusing to be intimidated by this gangster.

My display only makes Sam laugh. Three long strides and he's in front of me. I take a step back and he takes another forward. My spine hits the tree, the rough bark snagging against my t-shirt, and Sam cages me in with both arms. With his face mere inches from mine, I can smell his scent — bourbon and spice. It invades my nostrils, overtaking my senses.

"For what?" Sam tilts his head with the question, eyebrows raised. The action feels like he's mocking me, because we both know why I want to go home, and we both know he's not going to let me. And still, we do this dance.

Closing my eyes, I inhale a breath and summon all of my strength. "My grandfather isalone.I don't think you understand how dangerous that is for someone in his condition?—"

"I hired a nurse," he retorts quickly. Definitively. No longer a question of if I want him to hire a nurse. He just did it.

"I told you I didn't want you to hire a nurse." I'm barely holding myself together, already flustered and angry, the emotions rising in my throat.

"And I told you that you were staying here. You need someone to take care of your grandfather, so I hired someone.It's done." Sam isn't worked up the way I am. He's eerily calm. His words matter of fact. It only seems to piss me off further.

I inherited my temper from my father — at least that's what my mother told me. And right now, it's heating my blood stream until it roars to a full boil. I clench my teeth, my molars grinding together in a way I know will cause me pain later. My fingernails bite into my palms, leaving little crescent moon indents.

My foot lifts and shoots down, checkered Vans stomping on the fancy — probably a name brand I've never heard of — shoe Sam is wearing.

Those dark eyes light up, and for a moment, we stand there, with me caged against the tree, breathing heavily, and him staring deeply into my eyes.

"Brat." He doesn't say it like an insult; he almost sounds excited. And before I can retort and tell him I'm not a brat, that he's just an asshole, I'm being lifted. He slings me over his shoulder like I weigh no more than a sack of potatoes.

"Hey!" I shout, my fists pounding on his back. "Put me down, you ogre!"

Sam chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that sparks the butterflies that live inside me, causing them to flap their wings wildly.Traitors.

"It's time we set some ground rules, Olivia."

I don't like where this is heading, and I refuse to give up. My fists continue their assault the entire way into the house.

I'm not sure what Sam's plan is with me, but I do know one thing.

I'm not going down without a fight.

TWELVE

Olivia

I'm in the arms of a killer.

There're about fifty tornados swirling through my mind — each one competing for attention as they wind together, mixing my thoughts and feelings and creating a monster of confusion.

I watched this man shoot someone in broad daylight in an alley, where anyone, I.E. me, could have seen.Who does that?

I grew up with a mother who warned me of tall, dark, and handsome Italian men and how one look at them would ruin your entire life. And one look at Sam is definitely not helping.

I should be afraid of him.

But the way my body responds to his touch — tingles spreading under the surface of my skin — is notfearful.

Like I said.Confusion.

Sam brings me through the back door, past the glimmering pool and patio with its color-coordinated furniture. He moves swiftly through the sunroom and living room, opening French doors that lead into what I assume is an office. His house is large, but I don't get a chance to admire any of the rooms as hedrops me onto a leather chair. Before I have a second to catch my breath, he's leaning in. A hand on each chair arm, his face hovers inches from mine.

I can see how it would be easy to fall for someone like him, minus the whole"I'm keeping you"Neanderthal situation. He's easy on the eyes, with chiseled features and the classic brooding good looks that make hearts flutter. And if you’re into the whole being tossed around thing — clearly, he's good at that as well.

But I have no interest in growing closer with my newfound captor. Despite howclosehe literally is right now.

"Olivia," he basically purrs, and I refuse to like the way it sounds. "I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation you find yourself in." With his admonishment, he clicks his tongue.