Page 99 of To Catch a Sub

“Colette, look at me.” Her gaze snapped to his. “I don’t care about his people, or taking down some organized crime group. I care about killing the man who hurt you.”

The words were spoken before he could stop them, before he could think through what he was saying.

Was he seriously planning to fly to Russia and murder the man who hurt her?

Yes, he was.

But he couldn’t do that. He was a fucking Interpol agent, and before that he’d been a cop. He couldn’t murder someone.

No matter how much he wanted to.

He took a deep breath, wrestling down the killing rage.

Colette’s gaze held his, her eyes soft, mouth slightly parted. “You want to protect me?”

She sounded hopeful, and his stomach clenched. He stood and rubbed his face with one hand, breaking both physical, and eye, contact.

“Of course I fucking do, it’s my job.”

He was full of horse shite as his father would say. It wasn’t his assignment to protect her that had him plotting a murder. That explanation was a thin shield between himself and the truth about his feelings for her.

He cared about her, more than he should. More than was smart or sane. The rage he felt was born of soul-deep fear of her being hurt or killed.

Colette’s features were twisted with pain, and the moment he looked at her, she looked away. He wanted to take it back, tell her that he’d protect her even if it wasn’t his job. That his job wasn’t the reason he’d been seriously contemplating committing premeditated murder a second ago. But he wasn’t ready for that, not when part of him still believed it was all just a game to her. Admittedly a game with some real consequences, a game she’d apparently almost lost, but still a game.

The hurt on her face tore at him, so he tried to bring the conversation back to facts and information. “How did you end up chained to some Bratva asshole’s bed?”

Her head snapped up; her eyes bright with anger.

Good. Pissed at him was far better than that blind, blank look that had stamped her features when he pinned her.

Colette snatched a pillow, holding it against her front with one arm as she jumped to her feet.

Landon swallowed the command for her to drop the pillow. She may not have used her safe word, but the scene was over.

Wasn’t it?

Intellectually he knew it was, but years as a Dom had him conditioned to never abandon his responsibility to control the situation, and the sub, until a scene was officially over, and nothing they’d done or said formally ended it.

“Are you asking me what I did to deserve it?” she purred, a slight smile curving her lips. She sounded and looked mildly amused.

Fucking hell she was pissed.

“No.” He shook his head decisively. “There’s nothing you could do or say that would justify unlawful restraint and assault.”

The amused mask dropped, her nose wrinkling in a sneer, but it looked forced, like she was holding onto her anger with both hands. Her throat worked as she swallowed.

“What I’m trying to ask is how you met the fucker, and how…” He stopped, snorting and shaking his head. “How he caught you, because fuck knows I never could.”

Her lips twitched, but only for a second. “Why don’t you ask, Landon?”

“I did just fucking ask. How about you answer a god-damned question for once.” Familiar irritation with her prevarication was easier to deal with than fear for her safety.

“No, I mean ask what you really want to know. You’re wondering if I tried to seduce him as part of my plan to steal something, and he figured out my plan. Seducing information out of men is something you think I’d do since, apparently, I tried that with you.”

That wasn’t what he was wondering at all. His imagination was still on overdrive, now serving up images of her being stuffed in the trunk of a car or kidnapped from her bed. Each scenario he pictured was worse than the last.

Landon shoved his hands through his hair. “What matters as far as ensuring your personal safety is?—”