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“It’s not that late.”

She turns to me when I don’t respond, her shoulders dropping. “I’m not arguing, I’m just being reasonable. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Have you always been this mouthy, or is it stress induced?” I pull my boxers on, snapping the elastic when her eyes seem to be glued to my abdomen.

“No, it’s been always.” She slides off the bed, stepping over the towel on her way to her bag to dig out some clothes.

She’s going to need more clothing, and better than that dollar bin crap she has stuffed in her bag. When I wentthrough to grab the burner phone, I got a good look at the overly worn clothes. Shirts with the necklines stretched from being worn and washed too many times, and her leggings are starting to thin to the point of tearing.

“I’m sure your parents loved that about you.” I watch as she glides the pair of sleeping shorts up her muscular legs and over that ass of hers.

The urge to throw her over my knee so I can take my time enjoying her wiggle beneath my hand some more clouds my brain.

“My parents barely knew I was around most of the time. They were too busy trying to get married or get divorced.” She pulls a T-shirt over her head and combs her fingers through the short locks of her hair.

“I can’t imagine a revolving door of stepparents made for a fun upbringing.”

She sinks onto the edge of the bed, thinking.

“I stayed out of their way, and they stayed out of mine. It worked out fine.”

There’s something in her voice that tells me otherwise.

“What about you? Your parents totally on board with your whole mafia huntsman persona?”

She tenses when the buckle of my belt jangles as I slide it back through the loops of my jeans. It makes me smile, this little reaction to such an innocent sound.

“They died when I was a boy.” I go to my closet and grab a new shirt.

Her eyes are soft when I come back out, almost sad.

“Then who’d you grow up with?” she asks.

“I was old enough to take care of myself.” I pull the shirt over my head.

“Was your father in the mafia too?”

I laugh. “No.”

“You’re not going to tell me anything else?” She slides off the bed, her bare feet making no noise against the plush carpeting.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“You’ve done all that digging into my past, but you won’t tell me anything about yours?” She’s getting testy again.

Before I can respond to her, an ear-piercing alarm blasts from my cell phone.

“What is that?” She yells over the sound, covering her ears.

I search out my phone, finding it on the dresser.

“Rurik?” she shouts just as I turn off the alarm.

“The police are here.”

Rurik finishes getting dressed in record time. Once he has his shoes on, he disappears into the closet and comes out with a gun.

“What are you going to do, shoot the cops?”