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“Fine. I’ll ask Cole.” I move to walk around him only to have him jump to his feet in front of me, blocking my path.
“No, you won’t.”
“Watch me.” I elbow his ribs, making him sidestep, then prepare myself for retaliation.
Nothing happens. He just stands there, glaring at me.
I nudge him again, trying to create enough room to get by him, but this time he doesn’t stumble.
“I could do this all night.” He holds up his arms. “I don’t even have to use my hands.”
I laugh. “What about your balls? Do you need to use them?”
I grab his shoulders and raise my knee, pretending to mount a full-scale attack on his dick. When he twists away to counter the move, I slip by him and sprint down the pier.
“Fucking hell, Anissa.”
I make it onto the pebbled path and glance over my shoulder, finding him still standing on the wooden planks, not bothering to give chase.
He’s watching me, arms at his sides, his face shadowed but not enough to hide his frustration. “Don’t be stupid. He’s drunk as fuck. That never works in anyone’s favor.”
I don’t care.
I turn away and stumble along the rest of the path.
Truth be told, the scotch may have affected me in a not-so-subtle way, too. The liquor has cleared the deafening static from my head. I can process now. At least a little easier than before.
I don’t like what I’m thinking though.
I don’t want these things in my head to be real.
Not if it means Cole isn’t the nasty piece of work I’ve always known him to be.
I make my way to the house, step inside, and flick the billowing curtain out of the way. “Cole?”
He’s nowhere in sight. Not in the living area or the kitchen.
I slide the glass door shut, then lock it, buying myself some time before Luca follows.
“Cole?”
Again, no answer.
I stalk down the hall, toward his closed bedroom door, and fling it open.
He’s walking from the robe to the bed in nothing but black boxer briefs with that bottle still in his hand, only a few inches of liquid floating at the bottom.
The scotch doesn’t seem to have worked its magic on his brilliance. He’s still a vision of masculinity. All muscles and strength.
“Do you have a problem with knocking?” He clatters the bottle down on the bedside table, glaring his anger my way.
“Do you have a problem with wearing clothes?”
“I’m going to bed.” He grabs the covers, pulling them back. “Unless you plan on joining me, get out.”
“I’ll leave as soon as you confirm I’m here for no other reason than to inform your sisters about Luther’s death.”
His jaw tics. His knuckles clench tight in the bedding.
“Holy shit.” I stare at him, seeing the powerful man with fresh eyes.
I’m not here to recount a murder to business associates or criminal masterminds. I’m here to let his sisters down gently.
“Why didn’t you just tell me instead of dragging me through hell?”
“One, because you wouldn’t have believed me. Two, I needed to sedate you in case my father’s spies were watching, and you never would’ve given consent.” He grins, the expression entirely sinister. “And three, it was more fun this way.”
“You made me believe I was here to tell your drug co
“Bullshit.” He throws down the covers and stalks toward me. “Don’t go blaming me for your misconceptions. You and your high horse made those assumptions all on your own.”
He’s a wall of superiority. Tense muscles. Tight expression. Hard eyes.
He’s almost scary, yet so entirely strong and unyielding I can’t help admiring his conviction.
“So I’ve been wrong about you all this time?” My question is the slightest taunt. “I misconceived you as a murderous, co
“I’m not hiding shit.” He doesn’t stop his approach, not until we’re toe to toe, almost chest to chest. “Your problem is that you can’t fit me into one of your perfect little boxes. You want to label me as right or wrong, good or bad, moral or fucking corrupt, when all those tags apply at any given time.”
He glares at me, the level of judgment sinking deep. “I don’t follow your legal system, but I’m true, without fault, to the values of my world. I’m not heartless or merciless. I may not give a flying fuck about strangers, but I would die for my family and anyone in my i
He’s so close, a mere whisper of space between us. His breath brushes my lips, the hint of scotch sinking into my lungs.
“I didn’t tell you about my sisters because shielding them from outsiders is what I do. It’s all I’ve ever done. I keep them safe. I maintain their privacy.”
“Do they know what’s happening?” I swallow over my drying throat as his intensity wraps around me. Tight. I’m almost suffocated. “I heard you on the phone to Keira. You lied about being in Greece.”
He takes another step and I’m forced to backtrack, bumping into the door, making it swing shut behind me.
“She knows what will eventually happen.” He scoffs out a laugh. “In fact, she wants Luther dead more than I do. That’s why she can’t know when it’s going to happen. I don’t want her or Decker involved.”
Decker.
The reminder of the man who lost a sister to Luther’s perversions washes over me like a bucket of ice-cold reality.
“Did you ever find out more information on Penelope?”
“You’ve asked enough of me tonight.” His lip curls, the progression slow and vindictive. “I’m done with the subtle interrogation. And don’t think, for one second, I’ve forgotten you tried your best to get us all killed tonight.”
“Excuse me?” I take another backward step, my ass bumping into the door. “What the hell did I do?”
“I noticed how you tried to sabotage my plan, little fox. Do you really think I believed all your soft, emotional bullshit when the boat arrived?”
My cheeks heat, the shame from my needy outburst taking over my face.
“I told you I brought you here to inspire determination.” He raises his arms, placing his hands on either side of my head, caging me in. “You knew your spite was my motivator. So you flipped the script, thinking I’d falter with the batting of your lashes. But I’ll tell you right now, I’m not that fucking weak.”
I don’t answer.
I’m embarrassed to admit my emotional display wasn’t a scheme. There was no sabotage. None at all.
“You’re not the agent I thought you were.” He leans closer, the glaze of intoxication making those dark eyes seem questioning. “The spiteful Anissa Fox isn’t as tactical as she thinks.”
“That wasn’t a tactic.” I tilt my chin higher, my shame and frustration colliding. “I’ve almost always told you the truth.”
He laughs. “Almost always?”
“It’s better than what you’ve given me. You can blame me for misconceptions all you like, but we both know you’ve deliberately tried to steer my thoughts in one direction. You’ve wanted me to fear you all along.”
“If I wanted your fear bad enough, I’d have it.”
A shiver skitters through me. It’s not born from apprehension or panic. It’s something different. Something I desperately have to ignore.
“I knew how important tonight was. I wasn’t stupid enough to play games.” The admission doesn’t lessen the tingle searing through my veins. “I told you I’d do whatever you needed me to do, and I’m still committed to that promise.”