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“I hate your family,” he spats, the kindness and humor gone from his eyes. His stare is cold and dark. “It was your father, Cillian, who murdered my father. He wiped out my entire family. Do you know how he got the scar on his face?”

I shake my head. Dread wracks my body. I don’t want to hear how my father manipulated and destroyed more lives.

“He confronted my dad after hours at his restaurant. He accused my father of betraying him. My father denied sending his men to off your dad. Cillian took it a step further. Rather than killing my dad, he would give your hand to a different man. You were my betrothed, Blaise. My father was so angry, he threw a pan of hot oil at Cillian, burning his face. Cillian shot him then went after the rest of my family.”

“He killed your family?” My hand flutters to my throat. My father is a murderer. God, how will I live with his crimes? Violence begets violence. Kindness and forgiveness begets kindness and forgiveness.

“How did you come to work for Cillian if you hated him so much?”

“To understand that part, you have to hear the rest of the story.”

I gesture with my hand for him to proceed. Inside, I’m formulating an escape plan. Forgiveness is peace, but not if I’m dead or buried alive six feet underground.

“I saw the fire. You were with me. I took you with. I rushed inside and demanded you wait outside. You didn’t listen. Of course you didn’t. You never do.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair. Blows out a breath.

“I got knocked out by a falling beam. Somehow, you lifted that beam off me and dragged my ass out of the building. On the way out, you were knocked unconscious.”

“Knocked unconscious or did you knock me out?”

The pieces come to me slowly. Hale rising to his feet. Anger contorting his handsome face. A fist flying at me. Hale ignores my accusation.

“When I came to, Cillian had you in his arms. He demanded an explanation. I hated him so much, I couldn’t speak. He asked if I was mute. That’s how my ploy came to be. I wrote on the back of a menu that you saw the fire, played hero, and got knocked out before I pulled you out. He offered me a job, thinking I was a nobody off the streets.”

“How could he not know who you are?”

“He’s never met me. My father doesn’t post or keep pictures of his kids. No one knew what I looked like.”

“What is your real name?”

“Brady Fitzpatrick.”

I tip my chin at him. “I like Hale better.”

He smirks. “You can call me anything you’d like when we’re in bed, doll.”

“I’m married.”

“Divorce Maddox. Announce your upcoming nuptials to me. Do so, and I won’t go to the FBI and the DEA with evidence implicating your father in distributing weapons as well as committing murder.”

“If that was your plan all along, why did you kidnap and torture me? How were you able to explain your absence to Cillian when you kidnapped Maya then me?”

“More damn questions, Blaise? Doesn’t it matter that I’m here for you when your husband isn’t? Tell me it matters, doll. Tell me you give a fuck.”

He reaches out and grasps my chin between his fingers. I don’t give him the satisfaction of crying out in pain when he tightens his grip.

“Answer my questions, and I’ll answer yours.” I glance to the side, freeing me from his grasp.

“A trip to see my only family, my grandmother, back in Atlanta, explained my absence. Your father ate up the lies like he goes through his hard liquor; without a care in the world so long as I came back.”

“And my kidnapping and torture?”

“To teach you a lesson. You are not my equal, my dear future wife. You are beneath me. You do not walk alongside me; you walk behind me. Understood?”

“I would rather die than hurt Maddox.”

He grabs ahold of my arm and yanks me up and against his body. We’re eye to eye.