Chapter 27
Melody flinched at the sound of someone pounding on her front door, the racket reaching her all the way out on the balcony.
Straightening, she put aside her watering can and peered through the open sliding door to the living room.
She had wanted to wait out here for Mateo, knowing he’d appear up the fire escape any minute.
Besides, her porch plants needed water and attention—two things they’d had little of due to how busy her week had been.
Her throat clenched and burned with bile at the thought that it could be Roman.
She had been forced to endure being in his presence for most of the day and would be under his watchful eye at Solstice in about an hour or so.
God, what an overbearing bastard he could be.
Couldn’t she have an hour to herself after catering to him all fucking day?
Swinging the door open, she found herself confronted by the last person she expected to see at her front door.
She blinked, certain she couldn’t be seeing things clearly.
But it was Mateo, standing on her porch and staring at her with such …
intensity wasn’t the word. He was searching her eyes for something, peeling away her layers and invading her soul.
But then, there was something new in his stare, something dark and breathtaking.
Something that made her knees go weak and her hands tremble.
Before she could open her mouth to ask him what was wrong, she found herself staring down a dark cylinder.
Dread dropped into her gut like a stone and settled with a sickening weight.
A strangled gasp fell from her lips as she backed away, registering the pistol he leveled at the center of her forehead.
The hot coals of his eyes sparked flames as he stalked her inside and pushed the door closed, keeping his pistol trained on her.
Trembling, Melody held her hands up in front of her and tore her gaze from the barrel of the gun to rest it on him.
His jaw worked back and forth as if he ground his teeth, and his eyes narrowed into dark slits that glittered with a predatory light.
Her breath hitched and then began to race, her chest heaving with every inhale.
Not the first time she’d stared down the barrel of a gun, but definitely the first time she was uncertain whether the person holding it might pull the trigger.
He looked dangerously close to blowing her brains out. Which could only mean one thing.
He knew. Maybe he had been following her today, or maybe he’d seen something in her financials. Maybe he had simply figured it out for himself. Regardless, he knew.
“Mateo,” she whispered. “Please—”
The cold barrel pressing between her eyebrows cut her off, and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the shot, resigned. Instead, Mateo’s voice stabbed through her, cold and hard.
“No. Don’t say a word unless I ask you a direct question. Got it?”
She opened her eyes and nodded, and he backed away, pointing the gun at the sofa.
“Sit.”
She fell onto the cushion, clenching her hands tight between her knees. He had the pistol pointed at the floor now, his finger straight instead of curled around the trigger. It brought her no comfort as he looked at her again, mouth pinched tight.
“I’ve been doing this job for a long time,” he said slowly, each word falling on her like a knife wound.
“Long enough to know better than to let a pair of big eyes and pretty lips distract me. But you, Miss Frank … you are particularly good at this game. I will give you some credit, you nearly won. You almost had me.”
Melody wrinkled her brow and shook her head, confused. “What are you—”
The gun was back in her face, and this time, he cocked it. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a deep, slow breath as if trying to keep from exploding. When he released it, his eyes snapped open to lock with hers, and he gave her a warning look.
“One thing I will no longer allow, baby girl, is for you to go on playing innocent. You can drop the act.”
Now it was her turn to close her eyes, to escape him for momentary darkness and the realization that he would never look at her again the way he had before.
He was disgusted with her—she could hear it in his voice, feel it in the weight of his stare, see it in the curl of his upper lip.
Now that he knew about her and Roman, he had to have assumed the worst. And why shouldn’t he have?
He knew as well as she did that a woman with her past had limited options.
Clinging to Roman had rescued her from one unspeakable fate, but it had also forced her into a different sort of trap.
The kind that sank its teeth in and forced you to tear yourself apart to escape.
“Now,” he said, lowering the gun again. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I want the truth. No more games, Melody. No more lies. The truth. If I even suspect you’re trying to lie, I will empty this clip into your skull.”
She shuddered at the violence in his threat.
She stared up at him and found none of the tenderness and affection she had seen in them just a few days ago.
No more admiration, no more lust, no more awe.
Only rage and revulsion. She had never been afraid that he might hurt her, even though experience had taught her that all men were capable of was causing pain.
Just now, though, she wrestled with what she knew about him, trying to reconcile those details with the man standing before her.
The Mateo who had taught her a country waltz to Neon Moon wouldn’t shoot her.
But this man—this man standing before her with hellfire in his eyes—he would do it without hesitation.
“What did you tell Korenic about me?”
When she merely lowered her eyes, he snapped at her. “Now you talk. Answer the question.”
She shook her head. “Nothing … I didn’t tell any of them about you. They know the feds are on to them, but none of them knows who you are.”
“Yet,” he added, raising one eyebrow.
She shook her head. “Mateo, I would never—”
“Never what? Lie to me? I’ve been swallowing your lies since the moment I met you.”
“Not about him,” she tried again, growing bolder now that she was almost certain he didn’t mean to shoot her. The gun remained pointed down, and he didn’t lift it again even though she’d spoken out of turn. “I told you about Roman. I tried to warn you—”
“Oh, did you?” he growled, looming over her. “Funny, I don’t remember ever hearing you say anything to the effect of, ‘you should watch your back and keep your distance, because I’m Roman Korenic’s bottom fucking bitch!’”
Melody recoiled as he practically roared those last three words, the insult landing on her with savage intent. “Would you have listened if I had told you?”
“You played me,” he accused, either not hearing her question or choosing to ignore it. “You wrapped yourself around me like a fucking snake. God, the things I said to you, the things I … fuck! Was all that part of the plan, too? Was it his idea to make me fall for you, or was it yours?”
She shrank against the back of the couch, arms wrapped around herself for protection. Against what, she couldn’t say. The man had already snatched her heart out of her chest and held it in his palm. Now, he would crush it to bits.
“That isn’t how it was,” she protested, though her words sounded pitiful even to her own ears. But what else could she tell him but the truth? “You don’t understand.”
He holstered the gun under his arm and made a grab for her.
Frozen with fear, she didn’t bother to try to avoid the swipe of his hand before it closed around her wrist, drawing her up to her feet.
He held her close, but not enough for their bodies to touch.
His nostrils flared as if he were scenting her, and his pupils dilated in reaction. He had latched onto her perfume.
“There’s only one thing I need to understand. Are you, or are you not, Korenic’s main girl?”
Goddamn it. There was nothing she could say to that except, “Yes.”
“Were you his when you met me?”
“Yes.”
“Is that how you got out of the circuit? Getting his attention?”
Melody hesitated and he tightened his fingers on her arm, yanking her closer. So close she could feel the tension coiling through his body, hardening every inch.
“Answer me,” he hissed.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Sort of. I … it’s complicated.”
Mateo snorted and rolled his eyes. “Save it. I don’t want to know the details. I don’t need to know how things went down between you and your daddy.”
Melody’s knees gave out, and she nearly collapsed at the realization that this was about more than what Mateo knew.
It was about what he had heard and possibly seen.
She choked down vomit and lowered her head with a pained groan, humiliated and ashamed.
It was bad enough he knew about her and Roman, but for him to witness it, to see or hear her that way … it was more than she could bear.
Mateo caught her up by her other arm and kept her on her feet. His expression was one of gleeful smugness as he digested her reaction.
“Yes,” he said. “I heard everything. Everything, Melody. You think I wouldn’t recognize your voice while you moaned for that bastard?”
“Oh God,” she whimpered, letting her head fall forward toward his chest, praying he wouldn’t let her go. “Oh God, no.”
She felt as if she might collapse. More than that, she actually reveled in the feel of his hands on her, his nearness.
She wanted to sink into Mateo and beg him not to let go.
Melody nestled against his chest, drawing in the scents of leather, pepper, and tobacco, begging silently for his forgiveness.