Chapter 5
Dove clutchedher purse in her lap, scanning the shops as they drove along the crowded street. Despite the little debate she’d had with Steele over the value of money, at least the shopping trip gave her a reason to get out of that stuffy penthouse. If he thought she missed the fact he’d refused her blood again, he was a bigger fool than he believed she was. What the heck was his deal, anyway? She believed the whole point of his agreeing to this arrangement was to help him heal. If he didn’t want her blood, what did he want?
“How about that store? They have some cute clothes in their window,” she said to Grumpy One. Like the majority of Marcus’s crew, the bodyguard was broad-shouldered, square-jawed, with the personality of a wet blanket. Seriously, line them up and they’d look like a chain of paper dolls strung together. Grumpy One drove on, not bothering to answer.
They sped past a shop with greenery surrounding its window. Crystals and dream catchers dangled from strings. Baskets overflowing with lotions and herbs filled the display. “Madam Mystiques. Oh, that sounds interesting. Let’s go there.” She poked Grumpy Two in the shoulder. He sat in the passenger seat next to One. Same intense look on his face. “If you pull over here, we can get some chocolate at the Sweet Spot then head to Madam’s.”
“Not on the list,” Two said.
“Come on,” she whined. “You said that about the last three shops I pointed out. Tell me. What is on this ridiculous list?” Apparently, Steele had left her guards with specific instructions. His control freak tendencies knew no bounds, extending to her choice of underwear.
At last, Grumpy One steered the SUV to the curb. Two tapped the device in his ear. “Copy that.” To his partner, he said, “All clear inside.”
“Ten-four,” Dove chirped, not wanting to be left out. She pressed her face to the window. “Are we finally going to do some shopping?”
Two exited and opened her door. Dove slung her massive purse over her shoulder and stepped out of the SUV. She squinted at the gilded name on the shop window. “Aphrodite’s on Main. Let me guess. It’s on the list?”
In answer, Two opened the boutique’s door, stepping aside for her to enter.
“Alright. Let’s get our shopping on.” No way was she going to allow a couple of surly vampires ruin her trip. She strolled inside and her heart sank, enthusiasm waning. Racks of color-coordinated clothing filled the space. All of it, tailored, pastel, unembellished. Along the wall were glass shelves filled with high heels, their toes pointy enough to be weapons. Every pump was perfectly aligned, evenly spaced on the shelf. Not a Birkenstock or flip-flop in sight.
At the back, she spotted yet another bodyguard. He met her eyes and nodded. Sheesh. Talk about overkill. Sure, she was caught in the crosshairs of two dangerous psychopaths. That didn’t mean she needed this much protection to buy underwear.
“Hello, and welcome to Aphrodite’s on Main,” said a nasally voice. The salesperson glided between the display racks. Every strand of her blond mane was swept into a perfect chignon. Her pencil skirt was so fitted she was forced to walk in tight mincing steps. The woman gave Dove a once-over, from sandals to maxi dress, to the ribbons she’d plaited into her hair. “You must be Dove, Lord Steele’s new Chosen.” While the saleswoman’s lips smiled, her eyes were chilly with disdain. “I’m Hilda, the owner of this establishment.”
“Owner. Wow. Good for you. You have a beautiful store.” And it was beautiful, just not to Dove’s tastes. As they say, to each their own.
“Yes,” Hilda agreed, instead of acknowledging the compliment. “Since I was ordered to close my entire boutique for you, I am at your disposal. While I confess, I was surprised when Lord Steele informed me his Chosen was in need of a complete wardrobe, now that we’ve met”—she sniffed, staring down her nose—“I understand completely.”
Okay, wow. Rude. But if Dove was forced to walk around in that uncomfortable getup, she’d be crabby too. “Um, yes. Thanks. For the understanding and all.” Sort of.
“Let’s get started. Shall we?”
“I’d really prefer to just look around a bit on my own first. If you don’t mind.”
The woman’s pursed lips said she didmind. Still, she dipped her chin as though bestowing some great favor and swept out her arm.
Dove strolled between racks of stuffy clothing. Nope. Nope. Blech. Nope. She grabbed a lavender top, held it to her chest, and turned to model it for Grumpy Three at the back of the room. Three stared over her head, his massive frame still as a suit of armor in an old castle. She rolled her eyes and crammed the blouse onto the rack. Shopping for tampons was more fun than this.
What she really wanted was to visit Madam Mystique’s. An idea blossomed in her brain. Yes! I’m a genius. She thrust her hands into a four-foot section of clothing, hugged it to her chest, and heaved what had to be thirty pieces of merchandise off the railing.
Arms loaded, she huffed her way to Hilda, who stood behind the gleaming countertop. “Where’s your dressing room? I’d like to try on a few things.” Over the mountain of lackluster garments, she caught the shop owner’s narrow glare. That’s right. Hilda would be the one who had to rehang all this stuff.
“I’ve prepared a space for your use.” Hilda led the way to a suite of cubicles. Once there, she unlocked a door, then stepped aside, not bothering to help with the heavy load.
“Great,” Dove grunted, dumping the pile of overpriced clothing on a bench.
“Would you like some assistance dressing?” Hilda offered as though the words were dragged from her throat with barbed wire.
Dove responded with her sweetest smile. “No, thank you. I’m quite shy about these things.” Ha, ha, she’d almost said that with a straight face. Those improv classes she’d taken a few months ago were paying off in spades. “In fact, I’d rather not be disturbed while I’m changing.”
“Right.” Hilda sniffed, staring down her nose. “I’ll leave you to it.”
As Hilda’s footsteps faded, adrenaline sang through Dove’s veins.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.
When she reached thirty Mississippi, she cracked the door open and peered into the hallway. To the right lay the boutique. The left, freedom. Every storefront had an ugly back door, out of the public’s eye.
She dug her arm into her bottomless purse, rummaging… rummaging… rummaging. Massive purses were the best for holding all your necessities, that was until you needed to find anything. Got it! Her fingers captured a tube of lipstick. Purple People Eater. While not big on makeup, she’d made an exception when she’d discovered a fabulous shade of purple that matched the tutu she’d worn to a Mardi Gras parade perfectly. Pairing it with some green glitter pasties had earned her a truckload of beads. Good times. Good times.
She shook off the melancholy, cranked the knob on the tube, and scribbled on the mirror. Don’t freak, I’m at Madam Mystique’s. Look at that. She was a poet and didn’t even know it.
A quick peek at the rear of the shop confirmed Grumpy Three continued to stare straight ahead. Good boy. She held her breath, tiptoed through a storage area, and slipped out the back door. Guilt over her little hoax tickled her conscience, and she shoved it away. Eh, it would do them some good to lose track of her for a bit. The practice would train their commando senses for a real catastrophe. Something more dangerous than shopping.
With a bit of covert maneuvering through the back alley, it wasn’t long until she stood outside of Madame Mystique’s. When she opened the door, cheerful fairy chimes announced her arrival. She took in the store, breathing in the welcoming herbal fragrance. In her mind, angels sang their sweet serenade. Bring me home, Goddess of Frivolous Spending.
Mystique’s had it all, from lacey shawls, handcrafted jewelry, to bins of herbs and crystals. From behind a beaded curtain, a woman appeared. Her ebony hair was piled loosely on top of her head, accented with a colorful scarf. Bells jingled from beneath her long skirt when she walked.
“Blessed be.” She smiled, gliding in Dove’s direction. “How can I help you on this glorious day?”
“Blessed be,” Dove said. From her purse, she withdrew the shiny gold credit card Steele had given her and waved it around. “I’ll take all of it. Everything.”
The woman’s eyes twinkled, her smile spreading. “Certainly. But I’m not sure Lord Steele would approve.”
Dove huffed a forlorn sigh. “You’re probably right.” Her brows tightened. “Wait. You know who I am?”
“Madam Mystique knows all,” the woman said in a fake foreign accent, her expression worldly. She laughed. “The local shop owners like to gossip. From the moment you stepped foot outside of Aphrodite’s, everyone knew you were here.”
That was a little creepy. “Seems I’ve become some sort of celebrity, huh?”
“It’s considered quite an accomplishment to have landed a House lord. Steele’s never seen with the same woman twice. We were all curious, to say the least.” She tapped her finger to her chin, looking Dove over. Unlike Hilda, it was done in an admiring fashion. “I must confess, you’re not what I expected.”
Dove wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
“Celeste, by the way.” The shop keeper extended her hand.
“Nice to meet you.” Dove clasped her palm, and the woman’s aura blazed across her senses; purple, turquoise, and magenta. Ohhh. Her vibe said this gal was legit. An honest to goodness witch. Was this Dove’s lucky day or what?
“Tell me. What brings you into my little shop?”
“I’m in search of clothing mostly, but maybe there’s something else you could help me with while I’m here. See, I’m having an issue with an unwelcome spirit and need to ward my bedroom. Problem is, I haven’t performed the ritual in a while, and I’m a bit rusty.”
“Issues with the spiritual realm, huh?” Celeste planted her hand on her hip. This time, the head to toe she gave her was all business. “You’re a necromancer?”
“That’s right,” Dove admitted without hesitation. The witch didn’t strike her as the type to spook easily. “Think you could help me out?”
“Certainly. Follow me. The showroom is where I keep my more mundane merchandise. Back here is where I keep the good stuff.”
She led Dove through the beaded curtain. On the other side was a simple storage space with an additional door. Celeste placed her palm in the center of the symbol painted on it, muttered a chant, and the door popped open. Earthy scents urged Dove’s nostrils to suck a deeper breath. The secret room resembled a vintage apothecary. Shelves filled with bottles spanned the walls, dried herbs hung from the ceiling. In the middle was a heavy butcher block island. On its surface was a mortar and pestle along with an old-fashioned scale.
Dove trailed her fingers over the worktable. “And just when I thought your store was perfect, it keeps getting better.”
Celeste laughed. “I’ll gather up what you’ll need. You know, it’s been a while since I’ve had such an interesting request. For the most part, I use my talents to create bath bombs, wrinkle creams and such.” She collected bottles from her inventory, wrapping them in tissue before placing them in a paper gift bag. Over her shoulder, she said, “Tell me, what’s it like being Marcus Steele’s Chosen?”
“Eh, kind of boring, honestly.”
Celeste paused and pursed her lips. “How… disappointing. I have to say, there isn’t a female in Steele’s territory who hasn’t attempted to wrangle an invite into his private lair.”
Something strange tightened Dove’s insides at the thought of all the women who’d thrown themselves at Steele. Who could blame them? Even after his accident, he still was attractive, if you were into dark and moody, which Dove wasn’t.
Choosing to keep these thoughts to herself, Dove said, “His penthouse is nice and all, but Steele keeps to himself, so it’s pretty quiet. I mean, Ida, his housekeeper, is cool, but she’s busy working when she’s there.”
“That does sound boring.” Celeste rummaged through a basket of crystals. “Now personally, I’d like to spend some time with that beefcake bodyguard of his. I could follow him around all day.”
“Who, Bishop?”
“Mmm, hmm.” Celeste hummed as though she were eating chocolate. “Former, Super Heavyweight Champion, Bishop McGregor. He was an underworld cage fighter long before Steele hired him.”
“Wow. I had no idea.” Though it made perfect sense. However, there was one thing that didn’t. “Celeste, you’re a cage fighting fan?” Dove found it hard to picture the mystical woman in an arena, shouting with all the other bloodthirsty spectators.
“I’m a Bishop fan.” Celeste hitched a shoulder. “I haven’t been to a match since he was forced to retire.”
“Forced?”
“During one of the biggest matches of his career, he killed his opponent. Which is a big no-no in Council sanctioned fights. Worse, the guy’s family cried foul play. Bishop was in some hot water until Lord Steele bailed him out. He retired directly after.”
“Yikes. No wonder Bishop seems so loyal.” Did he kill the guy on purpose or by accident? The bodyguard didn’t seem like the type to kill without reason. Not that she’d known him for long.
Celeste set the bag on the butcher block and picked up a piece of parchment and pen, scribbling in a flowing script Dove envied. “Here is a copy of the incantation you’ll need.” Once finished, she rolled up the paper and tied it with a bit of ribbon. “Also, I’ve included my cell phone number. Call me if you have any questions or want to chat.”
“Thank you. I will.” Dove smiled, already envisioning them as future besties ’cause the witch was hella cool.
Celeste collected the bag. “Now, let’s find you something to wear before your guards track you down and ruin our fun.”
While Celeste magically secured the door behind them, Dove parted the beaded curtain and froze. “Too late,” she croaked, her throat gone tight.
On the floor was the body of a man she’d never seen before. His lack of aura confirmed the worst. Yep. Dude was dead. Standing over the corpse was none other than Bishop.
Dove stared, mouth gaping, beyond freaked out considering the story Celeste just shared with her.
The witch peered over her shoulder and gasped. “Is that—”
“Yes.”
“And he—”
“Pretty sure.”
Bishop stood with his thick arms folded and his legs braced. The look on his rugged face sent a fight-or-flight jolt through her. He was like a lion standing over his kill. This was so not good. Bishop was never far from…
She leaned, peering around his bulk. Sure enough. There was Steele.
Her benefactor lingered in a darkened corner of the store. While the annoying hood obscured his expression, his fury was a palpable force. His dark presence slid over her flesh, sucking the warmth from her bones.
She shivered and drew a deep breath for courage, cramming her cheeks into a smile. “Hey, guys. How’s it going? Funny running into you here.” For now, she’d ignore the body on the floor.
“You!” boomed an incorporeal voice.
Or not. Crap.
Static sparked along Dove’s glyph and the hair on her neck prickled. She whipped her head around. Next to the counter was a misty version of the dead guy that only Dove could see.
Their eyes met. Dang it. She really shouldn’t have done that. “Me?” she squeaked.
“It’s all your fault.” The spirit snarled, raised the transparent knife he clutched in his hand, and charged.
“Wait, you don’t want to do that.” Every muscle in her body tensed. She raised her palms, cringing. “I can’t watch.”
“Watch what? What’s going on?” Celeste hissed behind her.
The apparition slammed into Dove’s chest, and she stumbled back a step, more out of reflex than necessity. On impact, the spirit disintegrated. Icy tendrils spiraled around her. Clouds of frozen breath puffed from her lips.
“Ugh. So gross.” She shook out her skirt and ran her fingers through her hair, shaking out the ghost cooties. With any luck, the spirit would rematerialize on the other side. At least, she prayed that’s what happened. The thought of destroying a soul, even one belonging to a criminal, made her want to vomit.
Celeste shivered as though chilled, glancing around the room with wide eyes. “By the goddess, did you feel that?”
Dove wrinkled her nose. “Oh yeah. I felt it. Might want to perform that thing we discussed earlier here as well.” If Mr. Stabby survived, there was a slim chance he may stay awhile.
“Absolutely.” Celeste was quick to agree.
“Leave us,” Marcus growled.
Unfortunately, Dove figured that command was intended for Celeste and not her. Too bad.
“Um, sure.” Celeste gestured to the body. “But what about—”
“Close early,” Bishop said. “My team will take care of everything while you’re gone.”
Dove’s cheeks warmed. Not much fazed her, but this situation was about as awkward as it got. Especially when she was trying to make a new friend. “She turned to Celeste. I’m really sorry about all of this. Hopefully, I can return some other day.”
“Certainly. Come back anytime,” Celeste said while her heated gaze remained locked on the surly bodyguard. She shook her head as though coming out of a daze and shoved the boutique bag into Dove’s hand. “Don’t forget this. And. Call me.” She leaned in, whispering, “Seriously, Bishop and Marcus Steele were inside my store. I’ll be the talk of the town. Don’t you dare lose my number.”
The knots in Dove’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “I won’t.”
Celeste wove a path around two displays, cutting the corpse a wide berth. Next to Bishop, she paused and held up a ring of keys. He held out his massive palm, and she dropped them in his hand. “Just make sure you lock up when you’re done. And by the way, my apartment is three blocks north on Fifth Street.” Her voice turned sultry, and she winked. “You can bring me my keys there later.” With that, she flipped the sign on the front door to ‘closed’ and left.
“I’ll be outside,” Bishop said before he too was gone, leaving Dove alone with Marcus. Well, mostly alone. No point in counting the deceased.
Silence stretched between them. Dove squirmed. If he was going to yell at her, she’d rather he get it over with. She stomped on the dead guy’s back, hopped over, and moved to stand in front of her brooding benefactor, the space between them thick with his displeasure.
She gestured to the body. “Friend of yours?”
“One of Zion’s. He was here for you.”
She swallowed. “I kind of figured.” What with the stabby ghost and all.
“He was waiting outside Celeste’s private showroom.” Marcus took a single step, nearly smashing her toes. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to you had he caught you without your guards?”
All too well. “Something bad.” She took a step back, feeling like a rabbit trapped in the snare of his fury. “Look, I’m really sorry—”
“Don’t.” He stepped forward, crowding her. “Apologies mean little to me. Apologies are nothing more than wasted words falling from deceitful lips.”
Well, that was a fine attitude. “Sorry, for saying sorry?”
“Tell me.”
“What?” Speaking of lips, Steele’s were now inches from her own. While the rest of his features remained hidden in shadow, she found that small glimpse of his face fascinating.
“Tell me what he would have done to you.” He leaned in, his heated breath grazing her face.
“You’re serious?” She locked her eyes on his mouth, her body warming in a disturbing way, given the conversation.
“I want to hear you say it.”
If he’d yelled, it would have had less of an impact. Instead, the low, grated words sent a shiver down her spine. He’d gone from refusing her apology to demanding a grizzly description?
“This is ridiculous.”
“Now.” His barked command cleared the fog from her mind.
“He would have stabbed me to death,” she said in a rush.
“And Celeste?”
“Celeste what?”
“What would he have done to the witch?”
She huffed a frustrated growl, muttering, “Stabbed her too.”
“Why?”
Gah! Insufferable vampire. “Because of me.”
“Because?”
“Because I broke the rules, ditched my guard, and snuck into her shop.”
“Why would she have been killed?”
The ramifications washed over her. By the Goddess. Celeste could have died. Dove hunched her shoulders, whispering, “Because of me. We would have both been killed. Because of me.”
“Your behavior was reckless and irresponsible. You will not do this again.”
“Understood.”
After a moment of awkward silence, he heaved a sigh and stepped back, putting space between them.
Dove sucked a gulp of air, the first she’d enjoyed since he’d closed in on her. She shook her head, emerging from a deep hole she’d dug herself into.
“Did you purchase clothing?” he asked.
“No,” she groused, eyeing the drool-worthy merchandise displayed so temptingly before her.
“And you…” For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words while he scanned the shop. “You like this place?”
“I adore it.” She sighed, her voice thick with unfulfilled shopping desires.
“Take what you want. I’ll compensate the proprietor.”
“Really?” Once again, her brain reeled from his whiplash shift in attitude.
“You need clothing to replace what you lost, yes?”
“Yes, yes.” Before he could change his mind, she zipped around Celeste’s overflowing racks, making her selections. Luckily, there’d be little need to try things on since everything in Celeste’s shop was comfortable, beautiful, feminine. Love. Love. Love.
Marcus leaned his shoulder into the wall, taking his weight off his weakened leg. She sensed his eyes following her while she shopped.
“How was your meeting?” she asked while diving into a rack of sarongs.
Marcus studiedthe infuriating creature he’d claimed as his Chosen. Her slim fingers glided over the fabrics with reverence. Joy sparked in her eyes. The necromancer practically glowed as she made her selections. Strangely, he found himself both attracted and repelled, a moth to a flame. To draw closer would see him burned.
When her guards interrupted his meeting and confessed to losing her, he’d experienced a surge of rage he hadn’t even felt when faced with his second’s treachery. The emotion was strange and unexpected. Likely, another symptom of his condition. Still, he’d used it to his advantage, letting the anger fuel his damaged body while he decapitated his second.
Now that Dove was accounted for, it was time he returned to his office. There were a great many things he needed to do to prepare for his trip tomorrow. Bishop had discovered another lead on Helen. Instead of leaving, Marcus found himself leaning against the wall, watching the strange faerie. It was a novel experience, accompanying a female while she shopped.
She peeked over at him. “So… how was it?”
He frowned. “How was what?”
“Your meeting.” She moved to yet another rack of clothing.
There was something so domestic about the situation, it took a moment to answer. “You’re asking me about my day?”
“How was it?” she asked again, content in her shopping euphoria.
“I executed my second.” This time, he answered without hesitation. No doubt this would stop her prodding. If she expected a civilized response like—traffic was terrible—from the leader of House Othonos, she was mistaken.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She slung a hanger around her neck, allowing the garment to hang down her front, pulling the material tight against her chest. Her rounded breast plumped between her hands.
His mouth went dry. Before his injuries, women flaunted themselves at him, all of them practiced in their manipulations. Dove was none of those things, and yet she had his full attention.
“Had he committed some crime?”
“He was disloyal. Now he’s dead.”
“Just like that, huh? Sounds kind of permanent.” At this point, clothing filled her arms. She eyed the path to the counter and the corpse that blocked her way. Rather than walk around as the shop owner had, she planted her foot on the male’s back and hopped over. Again, her euphoric shopping bubble remained intact. Apparently, talk of murder and hopping over corpses had little effect on her.
He narrowed his eyes. Was it possible he’d misjudged his Chosen? If so, Dove could be of use to him yet.
She meandered to a display of trinkets and plucked one from the tray. Bells tingled.
“Someone betrays me, they only do it once,” he grumbled. “My officers needed the reminder. It’s important to set boundaries and clear expectations for those under my rule.” Why was he defending his actions to her?
“I see,” she said absently, propping her foot on a chair and hiking her long skirt up over her knee. Bells tingled, and she fastened a chain around her slim ankle. Her legs were shapely, her pale thighs soft, perfect for hugging a male’s hips. He knew of several ways to make those bells jingle.
He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. The shop owner kept it far too warm in here.
His Chosen jiggled her leg, sending the tiny bells into motion. Her thigh shimmied enticingly.
“Problem is, strict rules inhabit spontaneity and creativity,” she said, ripping the tag off the anklet and flicking her skirt down. “Without the two, nobody advances. New discoveries are built on the road less taken. In my experience, people typically erect boundaries out of fear. Those boundaries inevitably keep out the good with the bad.”
“Fear?” He shook his head. What was he? A prepubescent youth, drooling at the sight of her bare legs? He gritted his teeth. “It’s the members of my House who should fear me. Boundaries prevent accidents. Keep disobedient Chosen from being stabbed to death.”
She strode away from him, hips swinging. “Welp. Guess you’ve got me there.” At the counter, she ripped tags off the clothing, stacking them in a neat pile. That done, she helped herself to the shopping bags she found and piled in her treasures.
Her cavalier attitude grated. He’d never had less of a female’s attention while she claimed so much of his. There were few who’d challenged him. None dared to give him their backs. Then again, none had been flighty necromancers with no sense of self-preservation.
Finally, she glanced in his direction. “Say, what happened to my guards, anyway? I figured they’d be right on my tail.”
“You won’t be seeing them again.”
Her rosy cheeks paled, and she pressed her hand to her throat. “Please tell me they didn’t fall victim to one of your permanent solutions?”
Part of him didn’t want her to see him as a complete monster. “They live.” Was all he was willing to give her. “You need to learn your irresponsible actions have consequences.”
“Understood.” She had the audacity to smile at him. “Fortunately, no one was harmed. Me, I’m a fan of living in the moment, not the past or the future.”
On the counter were four large bags overflowing with clothes. No doubt, in her mind, this little stunt had paid off in spades. He’d soon teach her otherwise.
While she was lost in her shopping, letting her guard down, he was taking notes. Fortunately, this time with her wasn’t a complete waste. Thanks to her prattling, he knew what she valued, recognized her currency. It certainly wasn’t money given their conversation they had this morning. Once more, he had the upper hand, the balance between him and the disarming female, restored.
“When we return, you will spend the next three days locked in your room. Your punishment for breaking my rules. Be happy this time your spontaneity didn’t get you and your friend killed.”
“You’re grounding me?” At last, he’d managed to wipe the smile from her lips. “You can’t be serious. I’m an adult, not an infant.” The way she stomped her foot and folded her arms did little for her cause.
Her pique did much to restore his mood. “Three days. One for each of the males I exiled for failing to protect you.”
She deflated, shoulders slumping. “You exiled them? But that’s not fair. I was only out of their sight for five minutes.”
“And it would have taken five seconds for you to be captured or killed.” At the reminder, his rage returned, and he snarled, “With their actions, they proved themselves to be unworthy of my trust. Be glad I allowed them to leave with their lives.”
Rather than retreat as he’d expected, Dove planted her hands on her hips, thrusting her chin forward. “Those walls you’re building around you may keep people out, but if you believe they’ll keep me in, you’re sorely mistaken.”
He curled his fingers into his palms to resist shaking some sense into her. “Lucky for you, you’ll have three days to ponder just how wrong you are.”