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As if she’s avoiding me as much as I’m avoiding her.
Part of me is pleased she’s not speaking to me. Makes it easier to ignore her long enough to get something done. To not think about the inevitable when this shit comes crashing down on top of me.
The other half is pissed that Puke won’t stop staring at her ass and Ian has taken it upon himself to act as her personal bodyguard.
Fucker better watch himself.
There’s a whole twisted, fucked-up past between Hannah and me and though only I know the truth about what happened between us, I can’t deny there’s still that urge to try and keep her for myself. Lock her away and stake my fucking claim.
Fortunately for him, I’m not an idiot. I can’t have Hannah and her being here puts us all in danger, no matter how pretty thefreckles on her nose are in the evening sun. I’ve built a life for myself here. One that doesn’t have her in it.
But fuck, if the idea isn’t entertaining.
But . . . I’m still not above knocking his teeth in.
She’s probably noticed I’ve been avoiding her, but I don’t care. I’m in no mood to talk about her sister. I did call a few of my . . . connections. None of them had any idea where Melissa Gaines disappeared to, so it’s back to square one.
I keep telling myself I’ll give her the bad news any day now, cut her free and tell her to never come back here, but . . . I just don’t.
She finds out I can’t find Melissa Gaines, she’s gone and while life was so much simpler without her in it, there was that voice in the back of my mind.
I try to tell myself Hannah isn’t my problem, but we all know it’s a damned lie.
I made her my problem the moment I set eyes on her.
Now she’s my fucking addiction and it’ll take a fucking exorcism to forcibly remove her from me.
Accidentally—or so I tell myself—the monitor on my desk allows me to keep an eye on the shop while I’m in my officesupposedto be doing other shit. It’s become my greatest tool for keeping a bird’s eye view on her and I know it’s becoming a problem.
Just like she’s become my obsession.
Right now, she’s at her desk and I need to get out to the garage, but there are also bills that need to be paid. Keyword: Need to. I haven’t fucking touched them.
It’s easy when I can keep an eye on her from the cameras. She’s got her hair piled up on top of her head while she organizes today’s invoices. I can see she’s quietly singing to herself, eventhough she can’t carry a tune to save her life. From here, she looks innocent.
Fucking perfection.
Andthat’swhat I’m watching when the high-rolling fed walks in the door.
Fucking Logan Prince.
My sister’s fiancé. Also the biggest pain in my ass.
Besides Hannah, of course.
He says something to Hannah, flashing that devil-may-care smirk and my first thought is to kick his ass for daring to go near her. My second thought, though, is that I know this man is damned near obsessed with my sister and for that, I know he’d never hurt her.
Hannah may be the beginning and end of my world, but she’s just another girl to him.
Seconds later, my little sister’s fiancé waltzes in without knocking, FBI swagger and attitude wrapped into one cocky smile. Sometimes, I think he and Savannah are perfect for each other. Other times, I’d like to wring his neck for touching her.
“Long time, no see,” Logan murmurs, shutting the door behind him. Last year, Logan went undercover and brought my stepfather, Marcus Parker, in for crimes against humanity. Trafficking. Sex slavery. Nasty shit you only read in fucked-up books or hear about on the news. I had a part in all that.
Now, he’s taken it upon himself to propose to my sister.
“What?”
He smirks, slinking into a chair in the corner. I should throw it out. Gives people the invitation to sit down and stay.
