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“You could have told her you were in trouble. Why didn’t you?”
Her eyes glazed with emotion as she speared her fingertips through her hair. “I honestly don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. It just seems no matter how hard I try, the shitstorms continue coming. All I ever wanted was to bake my pies and maybe bring a smile to someone’s face.”
“Hey.” I reached for her hand. “I don’t want to hurt you or bring more stress to your life. I need you to know that.”
She flinched, a tear breaking free. “Yet, that’s exactly what you’re doing.”
“And you and I both know that you could be rolling out piecrust and brewing coffee if you would just stop with the lies.”
“Screw you,” she mumbled, pulling her hand away from mine, shooting me the bird, and walking her pretty ass toward the bathroom.
Chapter Four
Brooklyn
I couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think straight. I was in the seventh circle of hell, held prisoner in my own home by an evildoer. A man with no soul. A son of a bitch who wanted to take the one thing I loved most in the world—my brother.
Anger rippled through every pore of my body. My life was crumbling. I should have pies cooking and cooling, hot coffee brewing, and doing what I could to earn a living. Instead, I was rubbing at the goose bumps scattering across my skin every time he looked my way. Trying to will away the arousal lighting me up from the inside out when I caught him staring at my mouth. Damn me, but I was wet. Soaked. I was aching to know what kind of lover he was. And why? This wasn’t who I was. Wasn’t how I’d been raised. Was I this desperate for a man’s touch? This weak? This needy? Or had I lost my ever-loving mind? My momma sure would have thought so.
Shame washed over me at how easily I had been affected by a merciless killer. It was unjustified. Unconscionable. Yet, every time he was near, I felt the strength being sucked straight from my body.
He was fucking fire.
With shaky hands, I reached for the bottle of painkillers while my own temples started to ache. Why did I give a flying fuck about his headache when my brother was involved in shit three feet deep? When he hadn’t called after he promised he would? Was he safe? Hurt? My God, was he still alive?
Don’t leave me, Ben. You promised to always be here for me.
West rubbed his forehead, grimacing in pain as I walked toward him with the Ibuprofen. Suffering with migraines most of my life, I knew what he was feeling all too well. Pressure behind one or both eyes. Blurred vision. Nausea. Suddenly the man who broke in my home, this ruthless monster who was threatening to kill my brother, didn’t look so threatening.
“Here.” I shoved the bottle at him. “Take three. Or thirty.”
“Ibuprofen? That’s the best you’ve got?”
What did he expect? A damn morphine drip? Ungrateful prick.
“If I take three with a bottle of water when my eyes get all jacked up and before the actual pain kicks in, often I don’t get the migraine. So I guess you have two choices. Keep bitching and moaning, or stop being a horse’s ass and take the damn medicine. I wet a towel then crossed the kitchen to the refrigerator for another bottle of chilled water and unscrewed the lid. “Drink it all. And let’s go in there.” I pointed toward the living room. “You can sit in the recliner with this cool cloth on your head.”
He lifted a brow. “Bossy little shit, aren’t you?” He swallowed the painkillers with half the bottle of Ozarka. “I like it. Bet it doesn’t always go over so well in the bedroom, though.”
Heat lifted up my neck, then flooded my cheeks. “Whatever. I don’t discuss my sex life with criminals. But unlike you, I happen to have feelings and know how debilitating migraines can be. I’ve had them last as long as three days and could barely get out of bed. Now come on. Lie back and let the Ibuprofen do its thing.”
With a puzzling look on his face, he took a seat in the aged leather recliner, reached for the gliding mechanism, and stretched out his legs. I placed the cool towel across his forehead, then rotated only to have a strong hand grip my arm and yank me down beside him. Our bodies were so close that I could feel the heat from his thigh and smell the scent of leather and spice from his cologne. Along with strength and danger.
“Don’t think so, sweetheart. Being that I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, I think I’ll keep your fine ass here beside me while I take a few minutes to let this Ibuprofen kick in. Attempt something stupid and I’ll tie you up.”
“Something stupid? Like what, exactly? You’ve ransacked my home, so you know I don’t own a gun. You watch my phone like you’re the secret police, and you give me the stink eye every time I take a step,” I said while shifting the cool towel on his forehead. “And God only knows where you’ve hidden Ben’s keys.”
“Part of the job.” He was silent for a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable. “And though I owe you no explanation, it’s my last. Once I’ve taken care of this matter, I’m packing my shit and leaving Texas. Maybe the country. It’s too damn hot here.” His gaze trailed down my body, his eyes deepening with fatigue. “Now tell me why you suffice to using dildos when you could be with a real man.”
“Screw you, West. How about you tell me why you choose to be a killer instead?”
Hot breath brushed my cheek as he replied, “You may not have much sense, but you’ve got nerve, woman.” His eyes slid shut. “I’ll damn sure give you that much.”
Yeah, douchebag. I had nerve. Did I have a choice?
God, where was Ben? Why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he told me how dire his situation was so we could have found a way together to pay off whatever and whoever he owed? Nausea rolled through my stomach, and I had a sinking feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better. Should this threat of doom be right and Ben had decided to flee town, would West accept that fact and move on? Or would he kill me instead?
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said in a groggy voice an octave lower than his norm. “For causing you more stress.”
