Chapter Nineteen
I pulled the lever to open the panic room and started running. Tate’s steps boomed behind me. I charged out the main door and gained speed, headed toward the car. Then I remembered I placed the keys on the counter when I walked inside.
Bollocks .
Turning around and trying to retrieve them was the surest way to get caught.
Tate had murdered someone. That man was clearly dead. Why did he kill him? How many had he killed before? Somehow, I knew this wasn’t his first tango. He was too calm, too precise, too comfortable in his own skin when I caught him.
One thing was for sure—I wasn’t going to let him catch me.
I decided to disappear inside the woodlands adjacent to his property. The gated community boasted a natural reservoir that stretched for acres across a cliff.
A few advantages worked for me. Darkness fell with no natural or artificial light outside, so the night could cloak me. The grass was fresh and damp beneath my feet, so my footsteps were soundless. And I was a very good runner. Years of training diligently meant I could outrun most men I knew.
I bolted deep into the woods, putting more distance between Tate’s house and me. I kept my arms outstretched to avoid colliding with objects. It was pitch-black.
I knew I managed to lose him due to the absence of noise coming from behind me.
I whipped my head over my shoulder to make sure.
There was no one behind me. The forest was cold and thickly threaded with trees.
My feet sank into the muddy ground, slowing me down.
My muscles were sore. I needed to find my way out of these woods at some point, and I had no idea where they started or ended.
And then I heard them.
The unmistakable howling of hungry…wolves? No. There weren’t any wolves in New York.
Hyenas laughed from the shadows, the sound of them seeping into my ears like they were a hairsbreadth away.
I stumbled to a stop, surveying my surroundings as best I could. My skin was ice-cold, but my body was hot and slick with sweat. From beyond a thick tree trunk, I caught a glimpse of two eyes glowing in the dark. They danced like fireflies.
The eyes moved in my direction.
Slowly. Nearer. Closer.
Lungs burning, muscles quivering, I careened sharply to the right before they could tear me to shreds.
Even as I sprinted, I knew it was no use.
I couldn’t outpace a coyote. But I refused to go down without a fight.
I gained more speed, their barks and yowls bouncing off the treetops.
I pierced through the air, racing faster, faster .
So quick it was too late for me to order my legs to stop moving when I realized I was barreling straight toward the edge of a cliff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and to my own demise.
No. No. NO.
My last thought was Mum. Who would take care of her? Read to her? Brush her hair?
This was where my life ended and hers too. She’d become the state’s problem. Tossed into an institution—maybe back on a plane to England—to spend her remaining days alone.
An agonized scream ripped through my throat. The ground slipped beneath my feet. My legs hovered over air, nothing beneath them to catch me. My body sank, yielding to gravity. I squeezed my eyes shut, claying into stone.
A rough tug yanked me back to land. The coyotes must’ve gotten the collar of my coat. I covered my face in my palms, petrified, before I felt my body soaring through the air, flying. I slammed against a surface. Hot and sweaty and alive. The texture of beastly muscles vibrated between my thighs.
No. Not coyotes.
I was on top of a horse that was galloping forward.
Behind me was my husband, steering the reins skillfully, my body boxed between his huge arms. My back was flush against his torso. I could feel his heart drumming rapidly.
It was the only proof I had he was mortal. Alive.
The beast whirled around abruptly and dashed straight toward the two coyotes that chased me.
They scurried in different directions, whimpering their submission.
Tate tugged at the reins and straightened his legs forward in the stirrups, mindful not to hurt the coyotes.
We rode so fast the wind slapped my face, making it hard for me to draw a breath.
My thoughts swam inside my head.
My husband was a murderer.
But he saved me from certain death.
And he had a chance to run over these coyotes yet left them unharmed.
“Apologies for the bareback. I had no time to saddle.”
Tate’s warm breath caressed the back of my sweaty neck. Each gallop reverberated along my spine. Tears rushed down my cheeks. I was petrified, shaken, and angry.
At him, for everything he was putting me through.
At myself, for not being able to escape him.
Desperate, I tried to elbow his ribs with all my strength, but he easily dodged my elbow, and I nearly lost my balance and fell off the horse.
He bunched the reins in one hand, using the other to grab the back of my neck like I was a feral animal, applying pressure without actually hurting me.
His mouth found the shell of my ear. “I do love a good, hostile foreplay, but you might want to wait until we make it back to my mansion.”
“How did you find me?” I bit out, realizing for the first time that my mouth was full of blood, the tip of my tongue raw. Sometime during the adrenaline rush, I’d bitten my tongue and didn’t even notice.
“I can see in the dark.” There was no sarcasm in his voice.
“Rubbish,” I bristled. “What kind of idiot do you take me for? No one is capable of—”
“A big fucking idiot indeed. It takes a special brand of stupid to run into wild woods in the middle of the night. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s the beginning of Scary Movie .”
“I’ll take any forest creature over a cold-blooded murderer.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he said sardonically. “Anytime.”
Since I’d rather chew my own arm off than say thank you, I kept my mouth shut for the remainder of the journey.
When we arrived back at his mansion, he hopped off the horse and kept me on it as he guided it by the bridle to the stables, not giving me another chance to run away.
Once he put the horse back in his stall, he caught my waist and brought me down to the ground. He led me back to the main entrance by holding my arm captive, steering me in his desired direction. I was his prisoner now.
Inside, Tate turned on all the lights and hiked the thermostat up three degrees. I was hungry and dizzy and in pain. Collapsing on the floor seemed like an attractive option right now.
“You’ll sleep here tonight.” He was the first to break the silence.
“Keep dreaming.” I swiveled toward him with the vigor of a wounded, frightened creature. He may have saved me, but only because he probably thought death would be too lax a punishment for whatever the heck I’d done to him. “I will, however, call 911 and report the murder you’ve committed today.”
“Strange way to show someone gratitude for saving your life.” He strolled over to the kitchen, unperturbed.
“My life wouldn’t be in danger in the first place if you hadn’t blackmailed me into marriage and killed a man in front of me.”
“ Gia ,” he chided, opening a cabinet and taking out a tall glass.
“Please. You’re a smart girl. That guy was dead long before you entered the room.
” He filled the glass with tap water and set it on the counter in front of me.
“And I already told you, I’m tying up a few loose ends, and then the Irish will leave us alone. Go upstairs.”
“No.” I hugged my shoulders, my fingernails caked with mud and blood. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” I knocked off the water. Glass shattered everywhere.
He studied me intently. “What can I do to make you come upstairs with me?” He was brusque but not as callous as usual.
We’d reached an impasse. Either I handed him to the authorities and watched his entire empire—and likely my own life—implode, or I struck a deal with him.
“You can tell me why you scouted me when I finished college, why you stalked me beforehand, why you kept me close when I tried to leave so many times, why you loathe me so much.” I held on to the wall, my knees trembling.
“You can tell me who you killed, why you killed them, and how you plan on getting away with it,” I continued, feeling the adrenaline slowly evaporate from my body, like mist. “And you can tell me why our lives are in danger, what you did to the Irish Mafia to make us targets. And…and your name.” Pause.
“Your real name. I want to know it. Not all of us can see in the dark, Tate.”
There was barely any space between us at all, I realized.
The air sizzled between us, soaked with something foreboding.
I was going quite mad, I thought, when our breaths danced together, our heat and the scent of our sweat colliding.
Because I longed to feel his lips on mine again.
His rough finger pads peeling off my wet coat.
“And if I tell you everything, will you stay?” His gaze landed on my ivory pearl choker, and a rush of heat melted between my legs. I knew, with terrifying certainty, that I’d let him twist that choker and take my breath if it suited him.
Because I wanted him more than I hated him.
Always had.
“Y-yes.”
“No name, though,” he bartered. “That’s nonnegotiable.”
“First, promise me that I’m safe here.”
Tate smiled, his hand resting on my neck, right on my necklace. My heart picked up. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d have let the coyotes do their job in the woods. Less evidence to clean, less paperwork. No, Apricity. You’re safe.”
I followed him up the stairs, leaving my common sense behind me.
Thirty minutes later, I was lying inside a claw-foot bath, the steaming water thawing my icy fingers and toes. The sensation returned to them bit by bit as they tingled back to life.