“I’ve never gone after a woman before. I never would have.”
“Then why did you?”
He doesn’t answer. His eyes are narrow, lips press together.
“Why me?” I’m shouting now. Hysterical. “How did I get so lucky?”
“Because of Byron,” he says roughly. “I knew he was after you. And I had to see for myself. I had to… Not for any kind of fucking bounty. He’s my brother. That’s fucking why.”
My heart is beating out of my chest, a wild thing. No.
Of course. Kip’s mother, the incurable romantic. The lover of poetry. She named one son after Lord Byron and the other after Rudyard Kipling. The man who hurt me, abused me. And the man who helped me.
Or so I thought. But actually Kip is just part of the family business—fucking me over.
“Your last name,” I say, my voice raw.
“Adams.”
Of course. That’s what my last name would have been if I’d married Byron.
Now it’s suddenly clear why I never got close to Kip. Never close enough to learn his last name. He never would have let me. He had to push me away. All those times he turned hot to cold, all those times the brambles and thorns pushed me out, he had a purpose.
“Any sisters I should know about?” I ask, the reality still sinking in. Kip and Byron. Brothers. “Any Emilys or Sylvias I should know about?”
He turns away, but not before I see him flinch. Then there is only his profile, stony and silhouetted by the pale light behind him.
When he faces me again, he has himself under control. Packed tightly under a veneer of determination and devil-may-care. Under raw power and lust. Deep down, there is some part of him that feels pain. Some part of him like me. That’s not the part who’s staring back at me now.
“Did he send you?” I ask, my voice small.
“Not exactly.”
“But you’re going to take me to him.”
He pauses. “Yes.”
Now it’s my turn to flinch. I don’t hide my face though, don’t look away. I let him see how it makes me feel—cheap and hollow. I am a doll, with plastic makeup and real hair, made for men to play with. It hurts more than I could have thought. I’d imagined being caught by Byron. Or by one of his men. It had never been
like this. It had never been betrayal.
“So what happens now?” I ask, empty. “You bring me to Byron and what? You both fuck me at the same time? Is that the endgame?”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says with such quiet determination I almost believe him.
“You already are.”
That’s when the shooting starts.
Chapter Fourteen
Glass shatters.
I almost don’t register what’s happening, but Kip shouts at me. “Get down.”
He doesn’t wait to see if I obey. He pushes me down onto the floor, covering me with his body. I press my face into the floor. My brain is in a state of shock. All I can feel is the heaviness of his body, the heat of him. The grit on the floor. It shouldn’t even matter now, but I can’t help but wonder about that. Wasn’t the floor smooth before? I was dancing just two minutes ago. It feels surreal. I was happy two minutes ago.
I believed that Kip would protect me—two minutes ago.