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Dear Lord. Is there anything he doesn’t own?
“I suggest you come with me.”
I cross my arms, standing my ground. “Are you insane? You expect me to come with you after you’ve been killing people tonight? I heard the gunshots.”
A flicker of something dark crosses his face. “I haven’t. Not directly.”
It dawns on me that he means the accident. “The pile-up on the I-90 . . . that was you?”
Dante doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks volumes. So I launch into a lecture, my voice rising with each word. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done over there? The thousands of lives and schedules you’ve disrupted? I had plans tonight as I’m sure all those other people had. Did you even stop to think about that?” I finish on a yell.
“Not really,” he says icily. “But right now, I’m thinking about your Irish friends who escaped to find reinforcements. Now, unless you’re planning on catching a bullet or two in that pretty head, you’ll shut up and get in the fucking car. Now.”
My knees instantly weaken at his tone, and I grit my teeth in annoyance. “Jerk,” I huff, but the fact still stands. It’s either I sit down in the next ten seconds or collapse in a heap. “Where are you taking me?”
“Away from here.” Dante moves to the black SUV and opens the door for me; the perfect gentleman if you ignore everything else he’s been up to tonight.
I catch a whiff of him as I go past him to get in the car. His scent is just as bold, musky, and exciting as I remember. Lord, I’ve missed the way he smells. Before I can help myself, I take in another lungful of him. And then another as he yanks the seatbelt and secures it without touching me.
God, he smells good.
I’m seconds away from burying my face in his neck when he jerks back and then slams the door.
Wow, Addy. Desperate much? Even he is trying to give you a wide berth but you? You’re busy drowning your survival instincts in ‘Eau de Bad Decision’.
“Is Hulky your man?” I ask as soon as he gets into the driver’s seat. “The one who caught and bundled me into the car?”
Dante’s lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile, as he merges into traffic. The gridlock has magically disappeared and traffic is flowing as normal. “Yeah. You upset him, though. He doesn’t appreciate being bitten.”
There’s something in his tone that makes heat pool in my belly. Memories of a different kind of biting threaten to surface, but I shove them down ruthlessly.
“You’re right. Innocent women should politely ask their kidnappers for their preferences before they defend themselves.”
“Innocent?” Dante scoffs, his eyes meeting mine. “Adele O’Shea, what the fuck are you doing here right now?”
I hesitate, weighing my options. I could lie, but Dante’s always been able to see right through me. “I was trying to get to the airport,” I admit. “But thanks to you, I’ve missed my flight.”
“Why did you come to Chicago?”
“Work sent me.”
His eyes flick to me then he scoffs, “You’re the one Jim Pearson sent to Chicago?”
How does he know Jim Pearson or where I work?
I purse my lips, a stubborn refusal rising in my throat. I can’t tell him about the case or the evidence I was supposed to retrieve. “No.”
“Addy,” Dante growls, his voice low and commanding. “Don’t bother lying. You’re terrible at it. Did you come for the sample?”
I stay silent, my heart hammering against my ribs. I can feel his frustration, but there’s something else beneath that. Something that feels a lot like concern.
Still, I keep my mouth shut.
“Two and a half years, and you’re still afraid of me,” he shakes his head slowly, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.
“I’m . . . not,” I say, the words sticking in my throat. But it’s obvious, even to me, that I’m not being truthful. Dante scares me, although not for all the reasons he should.
That last night, after I’d crawled out from under the table, I wouldn’t let Dante come near me. He’d had to call me a cab straight to the airport. I was terrified, but more than that, I was confused as to why seeing Dante kill those guys for insulting me didn’t turn me off.
