Page 7 of A Taste like Sin

But when I do discover anything at all, I’ll alert you immediately.”

“Thank you.” I squeeze my eyes shut, even though it’s futile around him. He may not be able to see my

tears, but he can sense them. Smell them. I tremble as what feels like his thumb swipes at a fresh bead

of liquid, wicking it away.

“Iwillkeep looking,” he promises. “In the meantime… Let me take you home—”

“No.” Opening my eyes, I turn away from him and find myself nearing the threshold of the hallway.

This place is so strange when given more scrutiny. Private. Discreet. Yet within these walls, anything

but takes place. How strange that, of all potential hiding places, he would let the police find us here

—because I have no doubt in my mind that they wouldn’t be here otherwise. “Don’t you value your

privacy? I mean, if one of those officers decides to leak to the press that you were found in this

place…”

“They could,” he says. “Or perhaps, theywouldif I hadn’t had Julio educate them on the strict

privacy guidelines of this establishment before bringing them here. I’ve also ensured that their chief is

aware to remind them. Though it was only a matter of time before they came here looking regardless.”

Such a harmless statement reminds me eerily of the tensing of a trap readying to spring. Like a good

lamb to the slaughter, I blindly step within its snare. “Why?”

“Because I own it,” he explains. “And while its true purpose is private and its clientele strictly

guarded, public documents are alas public. Though I did have the officers come in through a private

entrance, preventing any unnecessary dramatics.”

Which sounds like a lot of trouble to go through for a welfare check.

“Why not just take me home? Unless… You wanted them to find me here specifically. Or, to be

blunter, you wantedHeyworth Thorneto know I was here. With you.”

At a sex club.

His smile should unsettle me more than it does. “If I admitted as much, would that bother you?”

The bastard. He makes it sound so casual, as if he’s truly offering me a legitimate choice.

But I’ve never had a choice, have I?

“You and my father can play your mind games,” I tell him tiredly. “But…”

“But?”

“Don’t ever do this again. Manipulate me like a pawn. I’m tired of power plays. I’m tired of being

controlled. I would like to be in charge of my own damn life for once, if that’s not too much to ask.”