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“To tell mommy seal what her bratty little pup is doing.” He ripped his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door with the remote.

Shay tripped, one of her boots crossing over the other, but she caught herself before she could fall. “You wouldn’t!”

Oh but he would—she didn’t doubt it for a second.

“You know, Cousens,” Roman began, not deigning to look at her as he kept walking. The bands of muscle in his arms rippled as he constantly flexed them, no doubt fighting a Surge. “I’m a bit concerned about your level of intelligence, after you didn’t even think to pop the hood on your car. A missing engine?” He tsked, sparing her half a glance over his broad shoulder. “Come onnnn. That’s easy. Anyone with half a brain would’ve figured it out before wasting money—stolen money—on a tow.”

“You know,” Shay countered, voice saccharine as she followed close on his heels, “I’m a bit concerned about your level of intelligence after you failed to stop me from stealing your necklace, your last kill, and—oh, looky here, your wallet.” She dangled it before her.

He froze.

And then he spun around on a heel, his rage exploding out of him as he spat in her face, “Give me back my fucking necklace, or you—” He grabbed her by the collar before she could retreat, tugging her so close their lips nearly touched, his other hand lashing out to snatch his wallet out of her fingers. “—are dead!”

Fear, strong and true, rocked through her, but she didn’t fight him, didn’t try to pull away. She held his cold stare, and she decided to try again—one last time. She had never been a quitter, and she wasn’t about to start now. There was far too much at stake for that.

“I know what I did was wrong, but I’m desperate. My sister is all I have—the only person who cares whether I live or die.” Her breathing turned ragged, and she was well aware that he could feel it on his mouth—that was how close he was. “I have no idea where she is, no idea what’s happened to her, who she’s with, or if she’s even safe, and it’s killing me. I don’t know if you have any siblings, but I would do anything in the world to protect mine—anything.” She dared to look at him harder, even as the last of the tiny gold flecks in his irises winked out. “Even travel into the desert to find her by myself. Even cry—which I never, ever do.” She could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched. But she was telling the truth—the burning behind her eyes hadn’t happened in so long that at first she didn’t recognize it. She added in a whisper, that face of his still deadly close to hers—close enough to bite or kiss, “Even steal from Roman Devlin.”

Even blackmail Roman Devlin, but she wasn’t about to say that; she didn’t think he would appreciate having a statement like that shoved in his face, especially not when it suggested she had succeeded in doing such a thing.

He looked at her—really looked at her, this time with a level of intensity that made her want to cover herself up, regardless that his eyes never strayed from her face. It might’ve been minutes that passed or hours, she couldn’t be certain. The sun blazed down, hotter than before, and she began to sweat in the thick humidity, her heart racing and tripping, just like her feet that had decided moments ago to be clumsy.

No, they hadn’t decided anything—it was Roman turning her into this pile of useless putty. Stupid, aggravating Roman in his stupid, ripped shirt.

Finally, he spoke. “Don’t do it.”

Shay blinked. “Do what?”

“Cry. I hate criers.”

“Well, I’m warning you now, I’m an ugly crier. Trust me—you don’t want to see it.” There was that mouth twitch again—the one that made her think this bastard might actually smile. “So you should probably just agree,” she added, “and spare us both the ugly mess.”

A beat of silence. And then: “You were going to drive your piece of shit car into the desert?” He was still so close, his nearness allowed her to smell him—the cologne on his skin, and the mint on his breath.

For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t expected him to ask her a question like that. What did a heartless Shadowmaster like Roman care if she drove it into the desert?

“I said I’d do anything, and I meant it,” she stated.

The skin around his eyes tightened; there was a freckle by the left and two by the right. “That tin can wouldn’t make it five miles in this heat.”

She eyed his vehicle, shining just behind his tall form. “Yours would,” she said cheerfully. “I bet it also has air conditioning.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his again, and a muscle ticked in his sharp jaw. “It’s nice,” she offered.

“It was nicer before someone kicked the bumper.” He wasn’t wrong—her shoe had left a scuff mark.

“Five days,” Shay offered. “Help me look for my sister for five days. If we don’t find anything, we’ll come back, I’ll give you your necklace, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

Two minutes passed—exactly two. Shay counted every second.

“Never?” he gritted out.

“Cross my heart.” That heart was skipping every second beat, but her magic kept him from noticing. To him, she was steady as ever—a rock unmoving in a river current.

She wished that were true. There was a part of her that was stronger than most people, she had to give herself credit for that, but underneath was a layer as soft as silt—and that silty layer won over all the others whenever she was around Roman.

Finally, he released her—not with a shove, but with a gradual loosening of his hand, a gesture that somehow felt more threatening than if he’d pushed her. He’d stretched her shirt—crumpled it into the shape of his fingers. Scarred, tattooed fingers that were nice to look at. She had always liked hands.

“Five days,” he said, the pale gold flecks in his eyes winking out again, “if I don’t kill you first.”

Part Two