Chapter 11
Sabrina
All men are liars.
And fuck them for that.
That’s the one bit of advice my old-fashioned father gave me about men.
Not the fuck them part—just the all men are liars.
I laughed it off at the time.
Hell, I was barely out of my teens, too busy pretending I knew everything.
But he was right.
All men are liars.
And I let myself believe—just for a second—that this one might be different.
That the big, brooding bodyguard with the rough voice and soft eyes and filthy mouth might actually want me.
Not for a job.
Not because he was being paid.
But because he saw something in me worth having.
God, I’m such an idiot.
A chubby kindergarten teacher with a history of dating walking red flags, and somehow I thought I had a shot at something real. What was I thinking?
You were thinking about his dick, Sabrina.
I groan softly and press the heels of my hands to my eyes.
Because, yeah, I was.
And no, we didn’t even have sex yet.
Now, what kind of sorry sack am I that I won’t even have anything to remember?
Truthfully, the man should come with a warning label and a cooling system.
I let my hormones take the wheel the moment he looked at me like I was something to be devoured. And now?
Now I feel wrong.
Used.
Stupid.
And maybe the worst part is—I’m angry at him, but I’m also ashamed of myself.
I knew better.
I knew better, and I still let it happen.
“I might be desperate,” I mutter to myself, “but at least I’m not a liar.”
I swallow the lump rising in my throat. Noel Kane’s words are still echoing in my ears.
Marco.
My brother.
Stolen data.
People thinking I’m the key to getting it back.
What. The. Hell.
I should be sobbing. Screaming. Curling into a ball. But I don’t. I can’t.
Instead, I stand in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows in Kane’s office, arms folded tight across my chest, watching the clouds roll over the city like I’m expecting lightning to strike.
My brother. My only living family.
What did you do, Marco?
He’s an idiot. Selfish. Addicted to bad decisions and instant gratification.
But this?
This is dangerous.
This is betrayal.
The kind that makes your stomach turn and your soul feel like it’s unraveling.
And then there’s him. Ego. Theo. Whatever the hell his name is.
In this very room with me, wearing that unreadable expression, arms at his sides like he’s waiting for the right moment to step in and fix everything.
I don’t need him to fix anything.
I needed him to tell me.
He had time.
But why did he have to look me in the eyes, and kiss me like I was something precious? Why did he have to touch me like he meant it? Like I mattered.
Maybe that’s the worst lie of all.
Because I wanted to believe him.
I still want to believe him.
I hate that I’m even thinking that, but it’s true.
Every time I close my eyes, I remember the way he held me this morning.
The way he touched me like I was breakable and wild at the same time.
Like I was his.
But I’m not.
Not unless I say so.
And right now?
I don’t know if I want to scream at him or kiss him or shove him out the window.
Maybe all three.
Maybe in that order.
I turn slowly and find him watching me. Still. Quiet. Cautious.
Like I’m the bomb now.
Like I might be the dangerous one in this room.
Maybe I am.
“Don’t just stand there,” I snap. “You wanted a shot? Go ahead. Start talking. All of it. No more secrets. No more ‘you wouldn’t understand’ or ‘I was going to tell you.’ Just tell me everything.”
His jaw flexes. He steps forward.
And for a moment, my heart tries to leap before my brain slaps it back down.
Because it doesn’t matter how much I want to believe he’s different.
He lied.
And I don’t know if I can come back from that.