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There he is, the protective man I know.
I may not have an understanding of who Sebastian really is, but the way he feels for me was never a lie.
“It doesn’t matter.” I shrug. “You never turn your back on family. You can punish them, but death is reserved for enemies, not uncles.”
“Enemies like me.” His eyes sparkle with mischief. His death wish lingers again. He lets out a derisive chuckle and lowers his gaze. “So, this hitman refused to let you back out of the contract, then fucked up the hit anyway?”
“No. I’m certain the change in plan was deliberate.”
“Why?” He straightens, inching closer to the edge of the bed.
“He figured out who I am. Now he’s trying to extort me for more than double the price and demanding I make the drop in person. I don’t know what to do. I’m smart enough to realize he’s going to keep extorting me no matter how much I pay, but I don’t know how to make it stop. And it’s not merely intimidating phone calls anymore.” I bite my lip, not wanting to tell him everything, and dying to spill my guts at the same time. “He’s escalated to physical threats.”
His chin hitches, his eyes glazing as he becomes lost in thought, the wild contemplation written all over his face.
“The drive-by…” He scowls. “You said you were responsible. You told me you were to blame.”
I don’t move, don’t breathe while he realizes even more of my truth.
“Fuck.” He pushes to his feet. “You’ve known who it was all along—”
“No.” I push from the window sill. “I’m not entirely certain. I still haven’t confirmed it. I tried making some calls last night, but I didn’t get any answers. I don’t have his phone number. All the information is stored in my cell, which is back in Portland.”
“Who is he?”
I swallow over the dryness overwhelming my throat.
“Keira?” He approaches, closing in on me. “Who did you pay?”
“I don’t know. I found him on the dark web. I thought he was a nobody from out of town.”
“A nobody that had the balls to shoot up one of your family’s restaurants?” He gets closer. He’s there. Right there. His hips brushing mine. “Give me his name.”
I work my lips together, buying time, hating the disappointment bearing down on me before I admit, “I don’t know.”
“Jesus.” Concern seeps into his eyes.
Concern for me?
“I thought I’d done everything right. I made contact. I arranged the hit. I even drove to Salem and placed the first half of the money in a locker before he knew where I was making the drop so he wouldn’t be able to stake out the scene. It all went smoothly. I’d made threats, telling him I had my team watching him to ensure he didn’t take off with the cash without fulfilling his part of the agreement.”
“What happened when you changed your mind?”
I heave out a breath, fighting the tingle in my fingers demanding I reach out and touch him. “I contacted him online. I told him not to go ahead with the hit, but he refused to discuss the situation unless it was in person.”
“You didn’t, did you?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I convinced him to call me on a burner number. But the verbal communication took away my power. I became flustered, and slowly, he chipped away at my anonymity. Before long, I was sure he’d figured out who I was.”
“Fuck.” He turns away, massaging his forehead. “That’s when he realized extorting you was a far bigger cash cow than killing your uncle.”
“Yes.”
“This is an impressive mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” He keeps his back to me, those strong shoulders calling for my hands.
“I know.” I need his help. I want it. Crave it. “I owe him money, and Torians always pay their debts. But I can’t approach him on my own.” I take cautious steps toward him. I don’t stop until his body is within reach. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
“Some shit can’t be fixed.”
I’m not deluded into thinking his response is aimed squarely at the hitman issue. He’s referring to this mess as a whole. He’s talking about us.
I place my hands on his waist, needing to reclaim our co
He stiffens, every muscle rippling under my touch while I fight for words.
“Will you come with me?” My lungs seize under the agonizing request. My ears burn waiting for his response. “Can you tell me what to do to fix this?”
“You want my help?” He swings around, incredulous. All those fissures of torment and pain disappear under a renewed show of fury. “How the fuck do you expect me to fix anything now that you’ve put a target on my back?”
My hands fall to my sides, my fingers trembling with both adrenaline and anguish as I withdraw.
“Don’t confuse my curiosity for concern, Keira.” He looks me up and down, judging me again and finding me unworthy. “You’ve ratted me out, and it’s only a matter of time before your actions put me six feet under.”
I retreat at the verbal punch and watch in silence as he stalks for the door.
“Close the fucking window,” he snaps. “It’s time you got some rest.”
“Sebast—”
“You’ve got five minutes to take a shower before I come back and restrain you to the bed.”