But I didn't come here to punish her. I came here to claim her…and I don't ever lose.
"Milan," I murmur, closing her door behind me.
"You can't hold me hostage in my own house, Justice," she growls, still pissed. "I want my phone back, and I want you and your men to leave."
"You helped Ainsley run off."
She opens her mouth to deny it and then snaps it closed again. One thing Milan doesn't do is lie. She'd rather have the cold, hard truth than a comforting lie any day. I know that's because she's been lied to and let down for most of her life. She refuses to do the same to anyone else.
"Where'd she go, Milan?" I ask, pacing toward her.
She backs up two steps before she realizes what she's doing. As soon as she does, her chin comes up and she locks her knees. I almost smile at her show of bravery. Almost.
"You know she shouldn't be out there on her own."
"And whose fault is that?" she demands, crossing her arms. She doesn't do it quickly enough to hide how hard her nipples are for me. "You've kept her locked up like a prisoner her entire life. If she shouldn't be out there on her own, it's your fault."
"Where is she?" I push away the flicker of guilt, stamping down on it hard. Ainsley has never been a prisoner. She had everything she could have ever wanted or needed. I may not have let her run wild, but she never went without anything.
Except her parents, whispers that damning little voice in the back of my mind.
Milan shrugs, refusing to answer my question. I don't miss the way she rubs at her wrist though.
Fuck.
"Let me see it," I say, my voice soft. I hold my hand out, waiting for her to obey.
Of course, she doesn't. Anyone else would have jumped to give me what I want. Not Milan. She defies me like always, simply because she knows she can. And like always, that defiance makes my dick rock hard.
"It's fine," she mutters.
"Milan, let me see it."
"I said it's fine."
I quirk a brow.
She huffs out an annoyed breath and holds her arm out. As soon as I wrap my fingers around her hand, an electric jolt shoots straight to my cock. Her skin is silk. Mine is leather. I may wear expensive suits and have expensive tastes, but I work right alongside my men on the ranches when I visit. It's backbreaking work. Precisely the kind that gives me something to focus on other than the little blonde currently scowling daggers at me.
She squirms as if she feels the same electric charge, pressing her thighs together. She tries to play it off, pretend I don't affect her. We both know she's full of shit. She had feelings for me long before she should have. Hell, she still shouldn't. I will never be good enough for her…yet that doesn't change a goddamn thing for either of us. I'm not sure which of us hates that knowledge more. Me? Her? Definitely her.
Loving her may be wrong, but it's the easiest thing I've ever done.
Her wrist is red where the cuffs rubbed against it. It's a superficial injury, but the fact that she was injured at all has my blood boiling. Willis never should have touched her. I don't care if he was simply putting cuffs on her. I don't care if she clawed his eyes out. He should have stood and let it happen. Those are the rules.
You don't touch my niece. You don't touch Milan. Ever.
"Is Willis okay?" she asks, guilt in her voice.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" She blinks her long lashes at me.
"He touched you."
"I punched him in the face," she says, shrugging. "And bit him."
"You bit him?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time." She bites her plump bottom lip, peeking at me through her lashes. The guilt in those baby blues matches the guilt in her voice. There's a little touch of defiance lurking in them too. "I also kneed him in the balls."
"Jesus Christ," I mutter and then I chuckle. Why am I not surprised she kicked his ass? She's a little firecracker when something sets her off…and nothing pisses her off quite like someone telling her what to do. Obedience means giving up control and giving up control makes her vulnerable. Milan would rather set the world on fire than let anyone see that vulnerability.
We're exactly the same in that regard.
"I'm not telling you where she went," she says, watching me intently. The pulse in her throat flutters, letting me know she isn't as collected as she wants me to believe. She's upset. With me? With Willis? "You can torture me or kill me or whatever it is you plan to do, but I won't tell you."
I stare at her, shocked. Not about her commitment to keeping my niece's secret. I know damn well she means every word. I could lock her in a dungeon and try to torture the truth out of her and she wouldn't say a word beyond fuck off. Her loyalty to my niece is absolute, unshakable. Ainsley means the world to her. She wouldn't betray that bond no matter what. So no, her loyalty doesn't surprise me. It's the fact that she thinks I came here to hurt her.
She could slice me open and pull my organs out one by one and I wouldn't raise a hand against her. She could tear my world apart piece by piece and I wouldn't say a word about it. Neither would my men. My loyalty to her is that absolute. I'm not going to hurt her to get my answers.
Never, princess. Not fucking ever.
"You think I'd hurt you?"
"She's your niece. You may be an idiot, but I know you love her."
"I wouldn't hurt you, Milan."
She snorts.
"Look at me," I demand, my voice firm.
She lifts her gaze to mine again, glaring at me.
"No one is going to hurt you," I vow. Ainsley isn't the only one I'd rip this city apart to avenge. So is Milan. If anything were to happen to her, it would destroy me. The only thing that keeps me going some days is the knowledge that she exists in this world.
"I…" She stares at me for a long, silent moment. For a split second, her mask slips. I see the vulnerability she tries so hard to hide, the confusion, and longing. I see her, exactly as she is. Powerfully beautiful and beautifully broken. She sees me too; I know she does.
That's right, baby girl. You know who I am to you. You know what you want from me.
"Milan," I murmur, lifting my hand to touch her face.
Just that quick, her walls snap back into place.
She jerks backward, out of my reach. Her hand falls from mine, landing against her thigh with a smack. Her expression reorders itself, every hint of vulnerability wiped clean. She shuts me out with a muffled gasp. I want to gnash my teeth and snarl like the beast I am. I was losing with her before I ever even knew we were playing. And I've been losing ever since.
How do you convince an angel to fall in love with the devil?
I don't have the first fucking clue.
She said I couldn't keep her hostage in her own home. She's right. I can't. But that doesn't mean I can't keep her locked up in mine until she admits defeat. And with her heart as the prize, I won't be fighting fair. If love is a battlefield, daddy just declared war.