“Yes, mother.”
Shaking her head, she leaves.
I fall back onto the bed and think for a long time, following the cracks in the ceiling with my eyes and debating the situation.
Ultimately, it comes down to logic versus hormones.
I want him. That’s an undeniable fact. Also undeniable is that our chemistry is explosive, and I’m dying of curiosity about everything to do with him. And, based on the kiss alone, I have no doubt our sex would be mind-blowing.
But.
He’s dangerous. And not drives-after-a-few-drinks dangerous. He’s lethal, and I’d be totally vulnerable living with him at his home.
The home I don’t even know the location of.
What if he decided at the end of twenty-eight days he wasn’t going to let me go? He said he didn’t want a slave, but isn’t that exactly what you’d say if you were trying to convince someone you didn’t want a slave, but you really did?
What if I wound up chained to the floor in a cage in his basement?
“Safeguards,” I say to myself. “Someone has to know where I am and when I’m supposed to be coming back.”
Okay. That’s doable. I could make it a condition of my agreement.
Plus, I could do a daily check-in call. For instance…if Ellie didn’t hear from me by ten in the morning, she’d call the police and give them Liam’s address.
I think that’s a great idea for all of about two seconds, until I remember the cops seem to be on his payroll. And I don’t know his address.
So…she could call the news.
Or my cousin Bubba Joe.
Or whoever, the point is, Ellie could be my link to safety in case things went sideways.
No—that’s wrong.
If I believe he’s a danger to me in any way, I shouldn’t go through with it. I should say no right now, and let that be the end of the mysterious Mr. Black.
The thing is…I know he’s not a danger to me.
I know, without knowing how, that Liam would never hurt me. I’ve always felt safe with him. In fact, I believe he’d risk his own life to keep me from harm.
After all, he’s already proved he would.
But still. This is not normal. This request of his isn’t real life. And let’s not forget to consider the opposite scenario of him keeping me in a cage: what if he let me go without a fuss?
How would I feel at the end of twenty-eight days when he happily sent me on my way, never to see me again?
Most likely…disposable.
Forgettable.
Used.
With an aggravated grumble, I scrub my hands over my face, then spend a while longer pondering the problem.
Finally, I decide the only way to get some of my questions answered is to go directly to the source. So I send Liam a text, asking him to call me when he gets a chance.
My phone rings less than sixty seconds later.
Before I can even say hello, he demands, “Tell me it’s a yes.”
I curl up onto my side on the bed with the phone to my ear, close my eyes, and sigh.
“That doesn’t sound like a yes.”
“Can you appreciate at all how strange this is for me?”
After a beat, he answers, his voice an octave lower. “Aye, lass. I can. It’s strange for me, too.”
“How is it strange for you? This is your rodeo.”
He growls, “Because I’ve never been obsessed with a woman the way I am with you.”
The raw honesty in his voice stops me short. I whisper, “Really?”
“Aye. I feel like a filthy fucking addict.”
I sit with that for a moment, enjoying it.
He says, “You’re worried. You don’t need to be. You have my word I’ll take care of you.”
I hear voices in the background. Male voices, several of them, all angry. It sounds like an argument…and it’s in Gaelic.
“I have to go. I won’t be able to answer the phone again for a while.” His voice turns hard. “Say yes, Tru. And say it now.”
I open my mouth to obey him, but something stops me.
It might be the tone of the voices in the background, or that I’ve heard one too many demands from him, or that my mind chose this exact moment to provide me with a memory of Buddy’s dark warning about using my eyes and my brain.
But from one heartbeat to the next, I’m certain that agreeing to this outlandish proposal would be a mistake.
One I might never recover from.
“I’m sorry, Liam,” I say quietly. “But I’m going to listen to your advice and say no.”
A moment of blistering silence follows. “I see.”
I exhale a pent-up breath, my heart pounding though I don’t know why.
Then he adds darkly, “Let’s hope I can honor that decision.”
The line goes dead in my hand.
15
Tru
One week later, my bruising has faded, I’m back at work, and life has returned to normal.
I haven’t heard from Liam. I don’t know if I ever will again or not, but the memory of that kiss we shared in my bedroom is branded onto my mind.
So are the last words he spoke to me.
I’ve gone over it a thousand times in my head: his blistering pause, his dark tone, the words themselves. I don’t know exactly what to make of all of it, except that he wasn’t expecting it…and he wasn’t sure he accepted it.
Beyond that, I haven’t allowed my thoughts to wander. The terrain out there is much too dangerous.
“What’re you gonna do for graduation? Are your folks coming up?”
I laugh at Carla’s question. It’s Sunday night, and my shift at Buddy’s is over. I’m in no hurry to get home, however, because Ty and Ellie have been having so much raucous sex over the past week, my ears are bleeding.
I feel guilty for thinking it, but I’ll be glad when they break up again.
In the meantime, I need to buy myself ear plugs so I can get some sleep.
“God no. They never leave Texas.”
“Really? Why not?”
“My dad’s claustrophobic. He can’t get on a plane or he starts to bellow like an elephant. And my mom won’t go anywhere and leave him home alone, because he’ll either burn down the house trying to fix himself a meal or let Daisy sleep with him in their bed.”
Carla stares at me for a beat. “Please tell me Daisy is a dog.”
“She’s a donkey.”
She mutters, “How did I know that?” and walks away.
I call after her, “You asked!”
Smiling, I head into the back. Diego’s at the grill in the kitchen. He lifts his chin at me as I pass, but doesn’t say anything.
We haven’t spoken much since I started back at work. He’s kept his distance, which I’m grateful for. After that hug he gave me, along with the threat against Liam, I’m still uncomfortable around him. I think he must sense it, because his usual playfulness is gone.
In the break room, I hang my apron in my locker and change my shoes. Then I put on my coat—I still don’t know what happened to the one I was wearing the night I was attacked—and grab my purse.
When I turn around, Diego is lounging against the door frame, looking at the floor.