Page 21 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Isabelle

Luca’s men had taken care of getting Nina and Chrissy home. That left just the two of us—alone.

I slid into the back seat of Enzo’s car and pressed myself into the far side, wishing the car were twice as big.

The silence had teeth. Sharp and mean, cutting deeper the longer we sat there. It reminded me of those courtrooms where you could smell the hate coming off the walls. Neither of us said a damn thing, or even glanced toward the other.

Luca’s anger radiated off him in waves, heavy and hot, matching my frustration. His fingers drummed a slow, steady rhythm against his knee—controlled, precise—but every tap was like a countdown ticking in my head. It was a warning. Or maybe a promise.

I kept staring ahead, but I could feel him anyway. Every shift he made. Every breath he took.

Enzo’s eyes flicked nervously between us in the rearview mirror, probably wondering which one of us would snap first.

The silence wasn’t empty. It was loaded, ready to go off. But hell if I was going to be the first to break it. I’d rather swallow glass.

The second we pulled up to the house and the car stopped, I was out.

Marching to the front, storming inside like a damn freight train on a one-way track to homicide.

I needed space—before I said something I’d regret, or worse, something I wouldn’t.

But as much as I wanted to escape him, I knew he wasn’t far behind. He never was.

By the time I reached the bedroom, my blood was boiling.

I’d handled bigger assholes without blinking.

Men who thought a badge or a suit gave them the right to control me.

But Luca? He didn’t ask. He didn’t negotiate.

He took. Some twisted part of me liked it.

Needed it. And that scared the hell out of me.

I headed straight for the shower, as if hiding there would fix it.

At this point, the bathroom was less a place and more a defense mechanism. I used to take showers to feel clean. Now it had become my Switzerland—neutral territory where reality couldn’t touch me for at least fifteen minutes. Hiding never solved anything, but at least it bought me time.

After running out of excuses to avoid the inevitable, I wrapped myself in a towel and stepped out.

Of course, he was there. Because why wouldn’t he be? Like some brooding demon dropped into my life just to wreck it, sitting on the bed, waiting.

“What the hell was that?” I snapped.

He said nothing. Didn’t even blink. Just closed the distance with a look that pinned me in place.

Before I even realized, his hand was on my throat, squeezing just enough to make my heart trip over itself.

It wasn’t fear. It was something way worse.

It was the way my body lit up for him, like it had no sense of survival left.

“That was me reminding that asshole—and you—that I don’t share what’s mine ,” he bit out.

I stared at him, my breathing all wrong, caught between pushing him back and yanking him close enough to drown in him. But before I could decide which side would win, he closed the gap, pressing his mouth to mine and lighting up every dark place inside me.

It wasn’t sweet. Wasn’t careful. Wasn’t even pretending to be.

It was raw, demanding—like he was trying to pour all the frustration and anger into that one kiss.

The towel sagged lower, and I didn’t move to fix it.

Couldn’t. Not with his mouth crashing into mine, not with his hand locking around my throat like a promise.

When he pulled back, I could barely stand the way I wanted him. And I could see it in his eyes too, the same war I was fighting.

“We agreed on the terms. I talked to someone, and you went and fucking stabbed him. Meanwhile, that waitress was practically drooling, grazing her hand up your thigh, and you didn’t even try to stop it.

Just sat there with that smug smile, whispering in her ear.

Why not let her drop to her knees and finish the job right there?

It’s not like it would’ve been the first time, would it? ”

The jealousy threaded through my words, and I hated how obvious it was.

I should’ve cared about the guy bleeding out, but no—I was hung up on the way that waitress had offered herself on a silver platter, smiling like Luca was doing her a favor by taking her up on it. And his smirk? Like it was just another offer on just another day. It made me want to hit something.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“If you’re expecting a lie, better lower your expectations now.

Yeah, I fucked her. More than once. And tonight?

She made damn sure I knew the offer still stands—any way I want her.

But why the fuck would I, when all I think about is having you again?

Under me. Gasping. Begging like you can’t take it, but needing more anyway. ”

The sting of his honesty cut deep. It hit like a slap and a kiss all at once. I wanted to hit him back. I wanted to fall into him. And I wasn’t sure which would hurt less.

“Don’t,” I whispered.

“Why the fuck not? Give me a reason. One.”

Luca’s free hand cupped my face, his thumb soft on my cheek, his eyes desperate. “Why can’t I tell you how badly I want you? ”

“I can’t do this. Not with how you make me feel.”

“You think I can? Seeing you smile at that asshole tonight… the second I saw him touch you, I wanted to put a bullet in his head. But no, I held back and stabbed him instead.”

Getting turned on by him talking about stabbing someone was so messed up, I should have been ashamed of myself, but the possessiveness in his voice was so fucking hot. His dirty mouth lit something inside me I didn’t want to admit was there.

“I’m sick of pretending,” he said, low and raw. “Pretending that I don’t want to tear that towel off and fuck you so hard you forget the whole goddamn world.”

I tried to lean back, to breathe, to do something other than fall apart—but his hand stayed right there, holding me in place.

“Luca…” I started, my voice cracking on his name.

Before I could find the words I wasn’t sure I even had, he leaned in, barely brushing his mouth against mine—a promise, a warning, maybe both.

“Stop fighting it.” His voice was soft, a dangerous plea. “Drop the mask—you’re trembling for this, just like I am.”

His mouth cut off my answer, stealing the breath I meant for words. This wasn’t like the first kiss. This one was different. Tender, coaxing, and pulling me in.

My remaining willpower vanished. I leaned closer, my body betraying every guarded thought. My fingers curled in his shirt, holding tight as gravity shifted.

He pulled me in by the waist, closing every inch between us. His lips moved against mine as if he had all the time in the world to savor this moment. And I let him. I let myself melt into the heat of his body pressed against mine.

When he finally pulled back, I was shaking, my thoughts a wreck, spiraling through everything we’d just crossed .

I kept my eyes shut tight. I wasn’t ready to feel the full weight of it. But I knew, deep down, that things had changed. That there was no going back from this.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice low and certain.

I should have argued, thrown every wall I had left between us. Told him he didn’t get to claim me. But I stood there like an idiot, heart pounding out a broken rhythm, dazed from that kiss. Because I didn’t want to fight it. I wanted to fall. And it scared me more than anything.

“We still have nothing on George,” I said, the words gritty in my throat. I had to shift the conversation, pull us off this track, or I’d end up with my hands on his belt and proving his point—that I wanted this as badly as he did.

He took a breath and stepped back. “We’ll figure it out. George isn’t going anywhere.”

His eyes held mine, as if they saw straight through the thin shield I threw up. Then he turned and walked out in silence.

The door clicked shut, but his presence lingered, wrapped around my throat like his hand had been. I could still feel the weight of it, the heat, the claim.

I stayed there, looking at the door, trying to slow my breathing, trying to pull myself back together, but the questions wouldn’t leave me alone.

How much longer could I keep fighting him?

Worse—did I even want to fight it?

And if I let go… would I survive it?

One more step toward him, and I wasn’t sure there’d be anything of me left. But standing still was starting to feel a hell of a lot like dying slowly.