Page 19 of XOXO, Little Butterfly (The Storyteller’s Bodyguard #2)
Tristan
“Absolutely fucking not.” I cut through her half-formed explanation. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Tristan, I really don’t appreciate the way you talk to me.”
“And I really don’t appreciate the mere suggestion of using you as bait!”
“I’m only giving back to society. Nothing is wrong with that.”
Blood simmers in my veins. “You want to go live and out your husband’s addiction, saying it’s what led to the stalker fiasco with the press.”
“When people know he’s a drug addict, any word he says will be discredited and inadmissible in court. He won’t be able to use Aaron against me or contest the divorce.”
“But in the same video you wanna tell people Saldana’s unfortunate death, also due to drug abuse, urged you to reflect deeply on the issue that you decided to give back to society by going to your roots and teaching at-risk youth creative writing.”
“It’ll give them an opportunity to build a career instead of ruining their lives with substance abuse.”
“Cut the crap.” My hands clench at my sides, fighting the need to grab her and shake some sense into that reckless yet brilliant mind of hers.
“You think you’re being clever, sending a message only your stalker would truly understand.
Your roots mean Miami. At-risk youth means the school.
You’re practically telling Butterfly Man where to find you.
All that’s missing for your date is the time. ”
Something flashes in her eyes. Surprise or a hint of respect for figuring it out so easily, I don’t know or care. All I know is that I’m not letting her sacrifice herself for this hunt.
“Think about it. Seeking him out will convince him I’m no longer pushing him away.
I’m falling for his game,” she insists. “Once he hears that message, it’ll catch him off guard, but he won’t be able to resist. It’d be the perfect trap to draw him out.
He’d be as vulnerable as possible, and you could finally catch him. I know he will follow me to Miami and—”
“And that’s exactly why it’s not happening. You’re not using yourself as bait. Not now, not ever.”
Her fingers run over her lips. "We need to do something. We can’t just sit here hiding forever.”
“It’s been less than twenty-four hours since we came here, Birdie, and we’ve already done something. Did you forget about the other two traps we’ve set?”
“Those traps will be a waste of time if Butterfly Man turns out to be someone other than Morrison or Jacob.”
“You’re not posting that video. End of discussion.”
“Since when do you get to decide what’s the end of any discussion?” Her voice carries that dangerous edge that usually precedes her doing something monumentally risky.
“Since I’m the one keeping you alive and safe. You hired me to protect you. Let me do my job.”
“I hired you to find him,” she counters, not backing down an inch. “How are we supposed to do that if we’re just reacting? Always one step behind while he controls everything?”
“By being smart. By being patient.” My voice drops. “Not by painting a target on your back and hoping we catch him before he catches you.”
A shadow crosses her face, fear finally breaking through that iron determination.
Good. She needs to understand the stakes here.
This isn’t one of her novels where the heroine can take wild risks and trust it’ll all work out because it’s a Happily Ever After.
It’s a dark and twisted reality where the stakes are etched in blood.
“You want the internet, I’ll give you thirty minutes on my secure computer. I watch everything you do. No exceptions.”
“Whatever you say, sir .”
My stupid cock pulses at the word again despite the scorn she pours behind it. “Don’t make me regret this, Birdie.”
“You already do.” She moves past me, close enough that her ass grazes my thighs.
If she leans back an inch, she’ll feel how hard I am for her.
And I could just grab her hips, bend her over, drop her pants and show her what happens to women like her when they taunt men like me.
“But that’s what makes it fun, isn’t it? ”