Page 88 of On Edge

“She’ll run screaming when she finds out what you really are.”

She won’t. She’ll be gone by the time this is over.

“Is that a threat, Mundel?”

“No, it’s a reminder that you promised me blood in the fucking streets of Fleet. This is not a fairytale and you’re not bloody Prince Charming, either. You’re a con just like me under that shiny suit.”

“Have you finished?”

He grunts, so I take that as a yes. “There’s another package to be picked up by Lovett.”

“Where?”

I hesitate to tell him the shipping container’s coordinates. Mundel is too emotional. His getting sloppy is not what I need right now. But we’ve both come too far to start distrusting each other, and I need him.

I have no one else.

Not anymore.

The only one I care about who isn’t dead, won’t even acknowledge I exist.

21

SAGE

When I step out of the wedding dress shop after my second fitting, Mundel’s Range Rover is gone. In its place: Troy’s sports SUV, idling at the curb, engine purring like a lion. A friendly lion, if such a thing existed, but I know better.

I slow as I approach, wary, until the window hums down. Troy eyes me from behind the wheel.

“Well, get in.”

Every instinct screams not to. I hesitate, but what say do I really have? Apparently none, and I’m marrying him in less than a week. The thought still feels impossible, like a bad dream I can’t wake from, especially when I’ve hit a dead end with my investigation. Those numbers Nola gave me haven’t helped. I called one from the bridal shop, and Mundel answered. One rang for ages, and the other one is dead.

I slide into the passenger seat. The butter-soft leather welcomes me, and the air smells faintly of cherries, cedarwood, and new car scent, sweet and intoxicating. Nothing this polished could be old.

Troy watches every move I make, his gaze heavy, unrelenting. As if I might bolt the second he looks away. I want to ask why he keeps staring at me like that, but the truth is, some part of me likes it. I hate that I do. It’s like I’ve been left to wither away on a corner my entire life, only to be feasted on now by a man I suspect is a serial killer. Possibly a cannibal. And if I’m not horrified enough about it…I actually like it.

Sometimes, I don’t understand myself at all.

“Where are we going?” I ask when he pulls away, heading in the opposite direction from Grayfleet.

He doesn’t answer, and the silence stretches through the dark country roads. When we merge onto the main road, the city drawing nearer, my stomach flutters with a strange, guilty excitement. This is my second time in London in less than a week.

The excitement of being off the island makes me a little giddy, and I don’t know what to do with myself. But every now and then, I sneak a glance at Troy, even though his eyes are fixed straight ahead. I’m hopeless at small talk, so I twiddle the ends of my hair and focus out the window, admiring the fancy cars weaving in the traffic, the tall buildings surrounding us, and the sheer vastness of the city swallowing us whole.

Finally I try again. “Where are we going?”

This time he glances over, holding my gaze for longer than is safe while driving. It should unnerve me, but it just makes my heart pound a little more.

“One of my hotels. In Soho.” His eyes are unreadable. “I thought we’d throw an impromptu engagement party.”

I blink at him. “Tonight? Why?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m a billionaire. Expectations to maintain.”

“What kind of expectations?”

“You’ll see. If you’re still intent on becomingmywife.” At that, his hand flexes on the wheel, and we pull into the valet parking lane of the hotel entrance.