It turns out I have more hand strength than I realized, especially when a man with large, gentle hands carefully uses tweezers to extract glass shards from my face. I must be leaving five dents in his leg, even through his jeans, where my nails dig in. He doesn’t flinch or jump, even when I hold on for dear life, even when I can’t hold in a little whimper.
Little pieces of red glass line up on the towel he laid out.
“That’ll stain,” I whisper.
“Let it.”
The couch is old but comfortable, lumpy in the way you can sink into. It’s too feminine a house for Kip, though. Everything is rose gold and sunshine yellow, corduroy softness and old brass fixtures. And dust. The house doesn’t feel lived in. Nothing like the hard man in leather and grit. “You grew up here?”
He doesn’t answer. His lack of expression tells me he did. “I don’t stay here much.”
“Why are you here now, then? Is it just a convenient place to stay while you hunt me down?”
“If that was true, I would have taken you back to Nevada when I first met you.”
“So why didn’t you?”
He pauses after the next sliver and looks me in the eye. “It’s complicated.”
“This isn’t a relationship status.”
“We don’t have a fucking relationship.”
I suck in a breath. It’s like he’s slapped me. No, it’s worse than that. It never hurt this much when Byron bent me over and fucked me dry.
Then his head lowers, before I’m even aware of what he might do. I’m braced for more pain. More lies. His lips are featherlight on mine. I hold still, allowing his mouth to move over mine, corner to corner, finding every square centimeter of my lips, kissing away the hurt.
When he reaches a little too close to my cheek, I can’t help but flinch.
He pulls back, regret on his face. “We need to get moving.”
“There is no we,” I say softly. “You made that clear.”
His eyes turn hard. “Let me finish cleaning your wounds. Then we’ll go.”
I’m looking at Kip, but all I can see are Byron’s eyes, his nose, his mouth. My heart slams into my chest as I remember that face looming over me, fucking me. Hurting me. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it before. Of course they’re brothers. They’re the same.
I have to leave without him. I can’t trust him at all. He’s been kind to me at times, but he’s also been rough and crude and cold. For all I know he will drag me back to Byron out of family loyalty. Delitto d’onore. An honor killing. That’s what it will be.
I need to get out of here. I need to get away from him.
I can’t trust him, even though I want to. God, I want to.
He leaves the room again to put away the supplies, and I know this is my chance.
I get the Taser he gave me and follow him into the bathroom. His eyes meet mine in the mirror. I smile that fake, seductive smile I’ve perfected through hours onstage. One hand slides up his back, meant to distract. To disarm.
He isn’t fooled.
Something awful flashes through his eyes—recognition. He knows what’s about to happen. And even worse—acceptance. He’s strong enough, fast enough to stop me.
“Honor,” he says.
Just that one word.
It’s the first time he uses my real name, and I repay him by using the Taser on him. He knows he deserves it, and I know it too—but that doesn’t make it any easier.
I press it to his side and press the trigger.