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Slipping my phone back into my purse, I turn to head inside.
And slam headlong into a wall of muscle.
“Sorry. Didn’t see you there,” I gasp, stumbling back.
The person I slammed into reaches for me, grasping my arms firmly as he keeps me on my feet. And I smile sheepishly up at him. But when I meet his cold brown eyes, my grin slowly melts away.
“No need to apologize,” he says smoothly. “You’re actually just the person I wanted to meet.”
My stomach drops as my blood turns to ice, and I silently curse myself for not listening to Killian’s words of warning. If I were paying closer attention to my surroundings, I might have noticed he was coming for me. But now that I’ve had a good look at him, he’s unmistakably Italian, with his dark hair, olive skin, and proud Roman nose.
“You don’t want to do this,” I murmur attempting to pull away from his grasp.
But his grip tightens around my arms, his fingers pressing into my skin with bruising force.
“No,bellezza, I really think I do,” he sneers.
And then the world around me goes dark as a hood is yanked down over my head.
7
LANCE
It’s past dinnertime, and Quinn still isn’t home.
And while Killian and Natasha seem wrapped up in their own little world, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s terribly wrong.
I cast a glance toward the front door for what must be the hundredth time, my half-eaten lobster growing cold on its plate. But I can’t seem to find my appetite.
“Not hungry tonight, Mr. Knight?” Cheryl asks as she and Henry enter the dining room to collect our dinner plates and replace them with sorbet.
Killian glances toward my food and shakes his head. “Quinn’s fine, Lance. She texted me an hour ago that she’s still out shopping.”
“She doesn’t miss lobster,” I say, forcing the words past the iron grip of tension around my throat.
“She probably decided to have dinner with her friends. She hasn’t seen them in a while and might’ve wanted to stay and catch up,” Killian counters. “Besides, she was in a mood this morning. I wouldn’t put it past her to stay out later to make apoint. You know how much she hates it when I try to curb her freedom.”
“She should have taken a guard with her,” I growl, that feeling of agitation in my gut growing stronger.
“You tell her next time. She might actually listen to you,” Killian jokes, and he turns his attention back to Natasha.
I love my foster brother. I would do anything for him. But sometimes, I want to beat the humor right out of him. And right now is one of those times.
“I set some lobster aside for her,” Cheryl says kindly, patting my shoulder.
I give her a silent nod, knowing she’s trying to comfort me. But I just can’t let it go. Something’s off. I glance toward Killian’s phone placed face up on the table—because as much as he wants to take her absence lightly, I know he was starting to worry before Quinn sent that text.
But for whatever reason, it hasn’t calmed my tension at all. And I glare at the black screen, willing Quinn to call and prove my unnerving instinct wrong.
As if in answer to my command, his screen lights up.
Killian reaches for it a little too quickly to be as indifferent as he pretended, and Natasha’s careful gaze watches as he answers and holds it to his ear. “Yeah.”
Not how he would answer the phone for Quinn, and the tension in my shoulders escalates.
“What the hell?” Killian’s eyes flash to mine as he stands so abruptly from his chair that it falls backward, clattering against the floor.
Cheryl jumps beside me, her palm going to her breast in surprise.