Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Lach took the next corner hard, the SUV fishtailing just enough to jolt Scarlett against the door. My jacket shifted with her movement, the fabric sliding, baring more of her than I wanted to see.
And, fuck me, I saw it anyway.
The flash of skin. The triangle between her thighs. The unmistakable truth that she was naked under my coat, warm and soft and begging to be ruined. My body reacted instantly, timing and consequences be damned.
I clenched my jaw and dragged my gaze away.
Get her home, get her dressed, and get a grip—now.
But my brain didn’t listen.
All I could think about was her on her knees, that red hair twisted tight in my fist, her defiance finally gone quiet beneath my hands. The images kept coming uninvited and brutal, and I hated myself for an obsession I couldn’t shake.
I adjusted in my seat and stared out the windshield, trying to calm the fuck down.
I texted Aria with one hand.
Need clothes. For Hayes’s daughter. She’s small.
Aria would handle it in the morning.
The Prism was just ahead at Eleventh and 19th, most of its windows dark as we pulled into the garage. Lach killed the engine, and Scarlett tightened my jacket around her.
I got out first, rounded the back, and opened her door.
She stayed where she was, glaring straight ahead.
I held out my hand anyway. “Come on.”
She stared at it as if I’d offered her a snake.
“Just let me go,” she snapped. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. My father is the mayor of New York City. He’ll come after you, and when he does, you’ll rot in prison.”
I almost laughed.
“No, he won’t,” I said evenly. “You lost his security detail in under five minutes. There’s no way he can trace you through the city when my people have controlled the feeds from the moment you walked out of the Peregrine.”
Her mouth tightened. “You’d be surprised. He has resources, and not just city ones. I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you.”
Lach came up beside me as I leaned a forearm against the door frame, lowering myself into her space.
“I know your father,” I said. “He won’t move until he figures out how to spin this. Those photos in the alley? They’re already everywhere.”
She groaned and dropped her head back against the seat. “Why is my life always such a disaster? I’m a good person. I swear I am.” She crossed her arms and turned her face away.
“Come on,” I said, firmer now. “Don’t make me do this the hard way. You’re freezing—naked except for my jacket—with that toy blade strapped to your thigh as if it could save you.”
Her face pinched. “Where are we?” she demanded. “And what are you going to do with me?”
“I’m taking you home,” I said. “And going to keep you safe. A hell of a lot better than he ever did.”
She shook her head hard. “No. Just let me go. Let me borrow your phone. My friend will come get me.”
Lach chuckled. “Now, lass,” he drawled, “surely you don’t think it’d be that simple. I pegged you for sharper than that.”
I extended my hand again.
She shook her head. “Nuh-uh.”
“Fine,” I said. “Hard way it is.”
I reached in, caught her forearm, and tugged. The jacket fell open in the motion, exposing her completely.
Lach swore under his breath and turned away.
Scarlett screamed and yanked the lapels closed, clutching the coat to her chest.
I clicked my tongue. “You’re a stubborn thing.”
Her eyes darted around the garage, wild and calculating. “Fine. I’ll walk.”
The moment she moved to step out, I swept her up into my arms—her weight light, and body tense against my chest—and headed for the elevator.
“Jesus Christ,” she snapped, squirming before realizing it was useless. “Put me down, you menacing, sex-club-lurking bastard.”
I hit the button and stared straight ahead.
She huffed a laugh. “You really think you can just grab me and haul me off like this?” she shouted. “You’re exactly like every other man who decides he knows what’s best and takes what he wants.”
The doors slid open, and we stepped inside.
She didn’t stop.
“What—no comment, Mr. Shadowman? Figures. You’re just an arrogant asshole with a god complex who doesn’t bother explaining himself.”
Her gaze flicked past me to Lach as he stepped in after us and pressed his palm to the scanner for the top floor.
I adjusted my grip slightly as the doors closed.
She looked him up and down, eyes narrowed. “What about you?” she asked. “You just going to stand there and watch him rape me, or are you planning to join in?”
Lach barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. He lifted both hands in surrender.
“Easy now. I’m only here for the ride.”
She scoffed. “Sure you are.”
My jaw tightened, but I didn’t rise to her bait.
“Say whatever you want,” I said calmly. “It won’t change where this is going.”
She went still.
Lach shifted his weight, eyes flicking to the ceiling as if the numbers might hurry along. “Brother,” he muttered, “you’ve got yourself a live one.”
I ignored him.
Scarlett stared at me a moment longer, then turned her face away, muttering under her breath as the elevator climbed.
I held her steady and let every word slide off my back.
The elevator opened onto a private hallway. Lach pointed toward my door. “Hide the knives.”
“I’ve got her,” I muttered.
He gave a two-finger salute and peeled off toward his place.
I pressed my palm to the scanner, Scarlett fighting to get down. Did she honestly think there’d be a way for her to escape, or was she trying to annoy the fuck out of me? Either way, my body reacted to her as if I were some school-age punk.
She was about to get more than she bargained for if my Irish temper snapped.
The heat in my chest simmered, hungry for a good fight just to bleed off the pressure.
The last thing I’d wanted tonight was another public debacle; instead, I’d unleashed a shitstorm of trouble.
All for one red-haired hellcat. It made me wonder if there had ever been an angel under all the bravado she spewed.
I dropped her onto the sofa.
She scrambled up at once, rebounding, then perched stiffly on the edge of the cushion, knees together, my jacket clutched tight around her body. Rain slid down the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of her, the Hudson River beyond them dark and restless, reflecting her muted image.
Her gaze swept around the open-concept space.
“Well,” she said, breathless, “this is…not what I pictured.”
“No?” I asked, heading down the hallway to my bedroom.
“No,” she called after me. “I figured mafia hitmen lived somewhere darker. Grimmer. Somewhere that smelled of liquor and smoke. Maybe a walk-up in—” she paused, thinking, “—Hell’s Kitchen? Or some depressing corner of the Bronx. Not…this.”
“Life’s always full of surprises,” I shot back, loving the awe in her voice even though her words were meant to needle me.
In my bedroom, I yanked open a drawer and grabbed the first thing that would do—a soft black T-shirt. Using my phone, I nudged the thermostat up a couple of degrees and went straight back out.
When I returned to the living room, she picked up exactly where she’d left off.
“This place is very…white,” she said. “And clean. Honestly, I expected something more…dangerous. Guns lying about, handcuffs and chains bolted into the walls, swords and knives on display.”
I tossed the shirt at her.
“Put that on, Scarlett. And who says I don’t have a game room?”
She caught the shirt and understood my meaning immediately, her eyes snapping up to mine. “Bossy,” she muttered.
I turned my back like a gentleman.
The mirror on the wall made a liar out of me.
Between the window reflection and the dark outside, I saw everything.
She stood and shrugged out of my jacket, the fabric slipping from her bare shoulders, down her arms, and pooling at her feet.
She was absolutely gorgeous—smaller than she’d seemed in the chaos of the church, smaller than she’d looked sprawled across the table at The Ledger.
She had a tight waist, soft curves, and full breasts that sat high and proud, nipples hard from the cold.
Then she lifted one foot onto the ottoman, steadying herself as she reached down and unstrapped the toy dagger from her thigh, yanking my thoughts back to when she’d first stepped out of the dressing room.
I’d nearly lost my mind. Long red hair spilling down the back of a teal-colored velvet cape that couldn’t hide the curve of her ass, a toy bow and quiver slung across her back, the dagger strapped high on her thigh, a golden crown catching the light. She wasn’t a princess dressed for fantasy.
She was a queen claiming her sovereignty.
That costume hadn’t been chosen for modesty or make-believe. It was a declaration of authority, of a woman who didn’t need permission to command attention. The kind of power that didn’t beg. The kind that brought men to their knees.
Perfect.
My cock jumped hard in my trousers.
She reached for the shirt, and for one brutal second, all I could see was her straddling my hips, my cock buried deep inside her, and my hands wrapped around her ass as her nipples met my mouth. I battled the urge to grab her and fuck her into submission.
I clenched my fists.
She pulled the shirt on in one smooth motion, the fabric skimming her breasts before settling over her hips.
I forced my eyes away before I crossed a line I couldn’t come back from.
She turned, hugging herself, chin lifted in challenge. “Satisfied?” she asked. “Or are you going to keep staring like a creep?”
“I want you warm,” I said tightly. “And covered.”
She snorted. “The decency ship sailed a long time ago.”
Her gaze swept the room again, cataloguing doors, exits, the layout. Always assessing—even half-drunk and shaken.
I hated how much I admired it.