Page 21

How quickly she forgets… at one time, I’d been her savior, rescuing her from certain horrors at the hands of an outlaw motorcycle club. Which reminds me. That’s another bone I have to throw her.

“The way I see it, I’d probably be doing him a favor. Would it matter, either way? Since you’re no one to him?”

“You wouldn’t kill me,” she tests. “If you wanted to, you would have already.”

“You’re right. Maybe I won’t kill you. Maybe I’ll let those punks from the motorcycle club do the honors and stain their hands with your blood.”

She shifts slightly and shakes her head uncertainly, telling me wordlessly that she doesn’t understand what I’m getting at.

“They might not know where to find you – for now – but they’ve put out a bounty on your pretty little head, woman. I don’t know what you’ve done to piss them off, but messing with the Savages MC wasnota good idea.”

“You can’t be fucking serious!” she fumes, hurling herself off the bed and coming to stand in front of me.

“Spitfire giving you trouble, boss?”

Marco emerges from the shadows and makes himself be seen, looking from me to Kingsley, his presence asking if he should intervene.

“It’s fine. She’s just getting comfortable.” I turn back to her and catch her hand just as she lifts it and aims for my face. I clamp her wrists in my hands and stare at her quaking lips. “Leave us,” I tell him. “And turn off the cameras,” I add, as an afterthought.

Marco turns and walks away without argument, his heavy footfalls thundering down the narrow strip away from the cell block. Marco never challenges me. He will do as he is told and he will do it gladly.

“Don’t raise your hand to me again, or you will see a side of me you will not like,” I tell her, enunciating my words slowly as my thunderous gaze connects with hers.

“Just tell me why I’m here. What do you want from me?” she whimpers. Anyone kept in such a confined space would crack. I’m actually surprised that she’s lasted this long. Although I’m not altogether sure how she’ll fare after a few more days in her underground prison.

Her eyes scan my face, searching for the answers she’s after. My expression betrays nothing. Instead, I drop her hands like they’re hot coals and lift my hand to pinch her cheeks together. She turns her face up, her cheeks imprisoned between my fingers, fire sparking in her eyes as she stares at me defiantly. If she’s going to die, she’s not going to go without a fight.

I watch as her lips part, a vulnerability washing over her face, and before I can stop myself, my lips are sealed to hers in a kiss I won’t soon forget. She fights me, then relents, sagging slightly as my tongue enters her mouth and scrapes along the inside of her cheeks. I want to taste her, remember her, so the feel of her never leaves me.

It’s when she responds to my kiss that I pull away from her violently, lurching back several steps to put distance between us.

“You weren’t made for this world, princess,” I hiss, “You’ve gotten yourself into a whole world of trouble – not even Tate can save you from those marauders when they get their hands on you.”

“You let me worry about the Savages. My problem now is with you. What will it take to get me out of here?”

I reach into the pocket of my shirt and bring out the deck of cards. “Shall we?”

20

KINGSLEY

The damn ego on this man.

That kiss. The kiss to end a thousand kisses. I don’t know why he did it, and I’m not going to lie to myself and say I didn’t like it. But just as the butterflies start to flutter in my stomach and I start to reciprocate, he pulls away and looks at me as though I’m a temptress that’s led him into the depths of hell. The man cannot stand me.

My hands refuse to stop shaking, and I sit on them to calm my nerves and shake my head at him when he offers me the deck to shuffle. I sit fascinated by the veins of muscle threading through his forearms as he deliberately takes his time shuffling the cards. He definitely wants me on edge. He shuffles slowly, and my eyes flick between his forearms and his eyes, which never leave me. He is enjoying this game more than I am hating it.

I pick the first card and watch as he places his card face up. My queen to his jack. What are the odds?

“What do you want from me?” I ask, tossing my card onto the discard pile. I watch in horror as he also lifts his card and tosses it, then picks up another and places it in his reserve pile. He doesn’t even have to think about it – he won’t be answering that question.

“Would you really kill me?” I ask, when I pull the highest card again.

“Depends on the circumstances,” he says, and I give him a smarmy look – it’s not an adequate answer, and he knows it. I almost wish he had let the matter rest there, but he feels obliged to correct himself. “If I had to, yes I would,” he clarifies, causing my breath to catch in my throat. The fact that he is still holding true to his word that he will kill me pinches at something in my chest. In a way, I’ve grown accustomed to this love/hate relationship between us, and it bothers me that he could so easily discard me if he so wishes.

“Do you have any siblings?” he asks me, when he picks up the next card.

“Only child here,” I explain, before quickly picking up my next card. “Were you lying about the Savages?”