Chapter 48 Make. Me. – Briar
MAKE. ME.
brIAR
Now
“Who was who?” I reply, a little too quickly, and his eyes narrow as he takes a step into the room.
“On the phone,” he purrs out in that Irish accent of his, and sweat coats my palms as he takes another step closer.
I break eye contact, pretending to be busy packing myself up, and that his question isn’t about to launch a full scale panic attack. I’m far too aware of my breathing when I turn my back to him, walking slowly across the room to retrieve the sweatshirt I left hanging on a folding chair.
“Oh, um… No one important,” I call back, as if it’s an afterthought.
Fully packed up now, I force myself back around to face him.
The way he’s looking at me, I fear he can read every traitorous thought I have in my head.
The conversation Gio and I had earlier, Remi’s very existence…
His gaze is sharp, assessing, and a flicker of suspicion flares in the green of his eyes.
“If you say so,” he says finally.
I nod, clutching the bag tighter while shrugging like it’s not a big deal, praying he doesn’t demand to see my phone. I can just picture him scrolling through it, finding all the evidence I’ve worked so hard to keep from him.
“Have you been here all day?”
“I—” My response is delayed, unprepared for him to so easily change the subject. “Yes.”
His glare grows volatile, and I gulp, fighting the urge to take a step back, not quite sure why he’s pissed about that.
“What the fuck have you eaten?”
Shit. He’s mad. But it’s better he be pissed about my not eating than continue to stew over who I was just on the phone with.
“I, uhm, well, you see—” His eyes darken the longer I talk. “I had a granola bar in my bag.”
Studio time is precious to me. I can’t afford it, so I can only get it if no one else booked it first, which is why I end up spending most of my time practicing at the studio above the diner. And when I do get studio time here, I use it. It’s not typical for me to take a break for lunch.
Plus, takeout in this area is expensive, so I usually just eat when I get home.
Koen closes his eyes, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
He looks to be on the verge of combusting.
I seize the opportunity, with his eyes off of me, to shift uneasily on my feet, immediately straightening when his eyes open again.
He sighs, audibly, picking up his own phone and typing something into it before putting it up to his ear. He glares down at me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, feeling as though I can’t make it worse.
“Ordering you food,” he snaps back, irritation apparent on his face.
Annoyance flares through me, and I cross my arms while glaring back at him. “I can feed myself.”
“Apparently not.” He gives me an appraising look, garnering a glare back from me, before he starts speaking into the phone, rattling off a Chinese food order to be delivered to my apartment. We have the same taste in food, it would seem, and my stomach growls as Koen lists off all my favorites.
“Twenty minutes,” Koen informs me, while pocketing his phone.
I just stare at him. His frown deepens. “I thought you were ready to go?”
“I am,” I huff, staring at him like he wasn’t the one delaying us.
He motions for the door, stalking toward it himself when I don’t move. He’s already annoyed with me as it is, so why not go ahead and really rip off the band-aid?
“One quick thing,” I call out, keeping my feet planted in the studio.
Koen stops on a dime, turning around slowly, looking like he’s just about ready to strangle me.
My gaze drops to my feet. “So, part of this showcase I’m doing for dance, there’s a requirement for participants to attend this gala.
It’s a charity event raising money for the Conservatory,” I explain, peeking up to check on his reaction, but his face is unreadable.
“It helps fund the scholarships, equipment, and facilities,” I ramble on—over-explaining.
“When is it?” His tone gives nothing away of his opinion on the gala, but he pulls out his phone as if he’s actually going to check his calendar.
Stop it, Briar. He’s probably just texting Mac to come and get me himself because I’m annoying him.
“It’s this upcoming weekend but—” I trail off, my nerves getting the better of me.
Koen’s eyes flicker up at my sudden silence, his growing irritation coming out in his tone. “But what?”
“Only dancers are given tickets. I asked, but—” I look up at him. “I can’t get an extra ticket. So, I’ll have to go alone.”
Koen’s expression turns stormy at that, his attention dropping back to his phone. “I’ll go with you. Not a problem.”
I tilt my head, unsure I heard him correctly. “What do you mean not a problem? What, are you going to drop in double-oh-seven style? Wearing that mask of yours?”
He looks up at me. “Would you like that, Ballerina?”
I huff out a breath, not knowing how to respond to that.
Koen’s phone chimes and he checks the incoming text.
“It’s not a problem because I just bought a table.
” He holds up the phone like he just placed an order or something.
“Come on. I’m going to be late.” He turns and strides out of the studio, and I have to run to keep up with him.
He’s quick on the stairs, too, and I don’t fully catch up to him until we’re both on the street outside.
He points to the bike parked up against the curb, his attention back on his phone.
“Get on the bike.”
I stop, staring at the bike while shaking my head in confusion.
“You just—you just bought a table?”
“Yes.” I think I see him roll his eyes. “Now get on the bike. You’re testing my patience.” He shoots me a warning look.
I don’t move, in fact, I’m cemented to the sidewalk until we figure this out.
“A table? You’re sure?”
His brow furrows sharply, jaw tightening as his eyes darken, exasperation breaking through his cold, emotionless mask. “Quite sure, Briar Rose. Now will you get your pretty little defiant ass on the fucking bike?”
“A table costs one hundred thousand dollars,” I continue.
“I know.”
I just stare at him and he steps closer, forcing me to tilt my chin to keep his gaze. “I’d be quite happy to discuss this further little Rose, but right now I need you to get on that bike.” His words come out carefully controlled, and I realize that I’m actually getting to him.
Koen grabs hold of the handlebars while swinging his leg over the motorcycle with ease.
Settled into his seat, he looks at home on the massive bike.
Even though there’s a bite of frost in the evening air, Koen’s only wearing a tight black t-shirt.
The muscles in his arms ripple as his finger feathers the throttle, his abs tightening when he kicks away the kickstand, supporting the weight of the bike to keep it upright.
It’s attractive as fucking hell, and my pulse betrays me, quickening at the sight.
A familiar warm heat flares to life deep in my core.
I’m overwhelmed with the need to either wrap myself around him, or slap him for making me feel this way.
Just as Koen goes to start the bike, his hand freezes on the throttle, looking up to find me still standing on the sidewalk, feet from the door, hand wrapped around my bag strap. The nylon strap’s rough edges cut into my palm.
“Maybe I should just catch a ride with Mac.” I shift, uneasy under his heavy gaze, looking up and down the street for the now familiar SUV, anxious over the thought of riding on the back of Koen’s bike again.
“I sent Mac home.” Koen’s voice sounds darker than it did before. He sits back, assessing me for a moment before he says, “Get on.” His gaze goes back to the dash.
Annoyance flares in me at the assertiveness in his tone.
Like I’m just going to jump when he says fucking jump.
As much as I don’t want to get on the bike right now, I really don’t want to be told to get on the fucking bike right now.
And the way he just looked at me… like he owns me…
expecting me just to do everything he says without question…
What if he asks you to kill someone, Briar? What if he demands it? Are you going to just do as you’re told?
“No.”
Koen stills, and I stiffen. His head tilts slowly back in my direction. It’s predatory, dangerous, and it’s as if he’s giving me a chance to correct my answer.
“I wasn’t asking.”
I swallow hard.
“Get on the bike, Ballerina.” The dominance in his tone sets off an unrecognizable flare of defiance in me.
After waking up in his bed, whatever the fuck happened last night, Giovanni’s threats, Remi’s hurt little voice on the other end of that phone…
I am not in a good mood, and like it or not, I’m about to make it Koen’s fucking problem.
“I said no.”
“You really want to test me tonight?”
Sure, you know what? Why the fuck not? What else do I have to lose? I’m tired of tiptoeing around, wondering where the line is. Time to find out just how far Koen’s willing to go to make me kneel.
I cross my arms across my chest and sharpen my gaze. “I’m not getting on that bike. It’s cold.”
His jaw ticks, the muscles in his arms flex as well. “Last chance, love. Get. On. The. Bike.”
I lift my chin, my voice mimicking his clipped, dark order. “Make. Me.”
A deadly silence stretches between us, and neither of us moves.
His shadowed gaze is fixed on me, and I don’t dare look away.
He moves slowly, first lowering the kickstand, then climbing off the bike with slow, deliberate precision.
My nerves are on fire, every instinct screaming at me to fold, give in, or even run, but I stand rooted in place.
He prowls closer, and I fight the urge to flinch away from him. He keeps coming, until he’s inches from my face, forcing me to tilt my chin to keep his eye and oh, if looks could kill. The green in his eyes is gone—they’re nearly black now when they drop from my eyes to my mouth.
“You want me to? Because I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.
” Something dangerous sparks in his eyes and I feel a tremble ripple through me.
He sees it too. “You’re already shaking.
I have a feeling you won’t like it very much when I put you on your knees and fuck that attitude right out of your pretty little mouth. ”
“You wouldn’t dare.” The words I intend to come out with a bite, instead, sneak out in a half whisper, my breath failing me.
Koen smiles, and I think I stop breathing.
“Oh, I think I would.”
My eyes narrow, and I go to open my mouth again, but his hand shoots up, wrapping around my throat.
His thumb falls just over my now thunderous pulse.
The shadows playing in his eyes darken, his grip tightens until he cuts off my air.
My hands fly to his, scrambling to pry his fingers off of me—to loosen his grip—but he doesn’t budge.
Darkness edges along the corners of my vision and I stop fighting him, my hands going still.
It’s only then he releases me, and I fall against him, sucking in air.
“Just giving you a little taste of what you’re asking for.” He winks, and I glare up at him, too busy returning oxygen to my lungs to bite back.
He leaves me gasping for breath against the wall of the studio, stalking back to the bike. “Get on the goddamn bike, Briar Rose.” His gaze cuts back to me and he smiles again. “I dare you not to.”