Page 17 of Taken With Trouble

I’m almost to the end of the block before Serena catches up to me. “What did you do?”

I glance over at her. “Oh, that? I hope you didn’t leave anything in the apartment. I just gave it away.”

She blanches at me. “You gave away an apartment?”

“I have a feeling I won’t need it anymore.”

Chapter 7

Serena

Liam gave his apartmentaway to a homeless mother. I saw it happen with my own eyes, but I still don’t believe it. He’s contradicting himself. This man is a selfish criminal; he doesn’t do things like this. Because if he did, then I would feel guilty about locking him up for the next ten years.

So, I’ll pretend I didn’t see it. Easy enough. He’s still a criminal, plain and simple.

It’s not like it matters to me; it’s an apartment I’ll never step foot in again. One with a welded shut window and therefore a fire hazard. How kind was he really?

Liam stops on the next street and lets out an obnoxiously loud whistle.

The sound ricochets around my exhausted skull like a rogue bullet, but it has the desired effect as a taxi pulls to an abrupt stop near us.

“Why did we have to walk this far if we were just going to get in a taxi?”

“Why does anyone do anything?”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

He smirks. “Thatwasn’t a question.”

I hate him so much. No, I need a stronger word than hate… abhor,loathe, detest.

Liam speaks to the driver in French then gets in. For a split second, I consider running. But I can’t go home empty-handed. I made a deal with the devil, and I’ll have to pray I don’t lose my soul.

Liam snatches my hand, pulling me back to reality and into the car. Literally. My head hits the frame, and white spots explode across my vision. “Ow.” I groan, collapsing into the seat beside him.

“You’re supposed to get in the car, not go through it,” Liam says in a voice dripping with false concern. “Come here, let Buttercup kiss it all better.”

I pull away fast, resulting in an instant headache. “Don’t you dare kiss me.”

“I’ll be honest, I can’t say I’ve ever heard that from a woman before.”

“Madame?” the driver looks in the rearview mirror, and I grit my teeth.

“I’m fine.”

He nods once before merging into traffic without so much as checking his blind spots. I’m going to die here in Paris, courtesy of Liam Hawthorne, millionaire philanderer con artist.

I punish Liam with the silent treatment. He doesn’t even notice. He points out tourist attractions, emphasizing the most romantic spots as if I haven’t been here before. It’s tiresome.

The driver turns the cab off the main road and into a boatyard along the Seine.

This isn’t right.

Liam curses under his breath, and two seconds later a gun appears through the window that separates us from the driver—the driver who is now trying to kill us. Cool. He can hop in line. I called dibs.

“Okay.” I hold up my hand. “If anyone’s going to take a shot at this man, it’s me.”

“I much prefer my demise to be at her hands as well,” Liam pipes in.