Chapter 13
Cover
Idon’t drink spirits often. The alcohol content is too high.
I enjoy a full-bodied wine every now and again, but since my junior year of college, I’ve stayed away from hard liquor.
I’ve read far too many studies on the effects of alcohol on the decision-making process, reaction time, and impulse control.
In the last ten minutes, I’ve consumed over four ounces of forty-proof liquor. I can feel the effects spreading through my veins, infiltrating my brain, hindering my gait.
“Watch your step.” Theo offers me his hand as we exit the bar into the alley. The pavement is uneven and grimy. I wince as my couture heels come in contact with dirt and gum and litter. Theo chuckles. “I didn’t peg you for a princess.”
“I guess you learn something new everyday.” I glower at him as we step off to the side. Thankfully, Theo decides on the side that isn’t lined with recycling bins and dumpsters. The wind is blowing west. Another small victory.
Theo grins as I stand with my feet glued together, my nose scrunched up at the seedy surroundings.
“Jesus. Here.”
He removes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket before shrugging off his jacket. My eyes widen as he places the leather jacket on the ground, inner lining facing upward.
“Your own magic carpet. Hop on, princess.”
I frown at him. “Why would you do that? You’re ruining your coat.”
Theo shrugs as he removes a mini black lighter from the cigarette pack and lights a smoke. “A little dirt isn’t going to kill me, doc.” He inhales a long drag, holding the smoke in for a few seconds before blowing it into the wind. He glances down at his jacket. “Use the damn jacket, Safia.”
With an inaudible huff, I take a step forward, and instantly, my shoulders relax. I would’ve never described myself as high maintenance, but Theo’s single-handedly challenging all my self-conceptions.
“Thank you,” I mutter, avoiding eye contact.
Theo leans against the railing that frames the emergency exit of The Junction. His standard issued pistol bulges out from the holster.
He notices my sightline. “You ever shot a gun?”
I give him a sweet smile. “Me? With a gun? How outrageous. Princesses aren’t meant to be armed, Theodore. We’re too weak and feeble. That’s why we have guards. Strong men like you to protect us poor damsels.”
He smirks. “A simple yes would’ve sufficed.”
The words slip off my tongue with no authorized approval. “I don’t think you like simple.”
Theo cocks his head, and the shadows from flickering streetlights highlight the taut muscles in his neck, the sculpted ridges of his arms. And God, if his shirt was just half a size smaller, I swear I would see the outline of his abs.
“You’re right,” he rasps, kicking himself off the railing. He stalks toward me, taking a long puff of the smoke. He stops inches away, my vision clouded by carcinogens. “What about you, Safia? What do you prefer?” He arches over, whispering in my ear. “Simple or complex?”
My breath hitches. “Depends on the situation.”
“Mmm…” He sucks in a long, ragged breath.
But it’s not smoke that’s filling his lungs.
It’s me. My hair. My skin. My scent. But can he smell my fickle morals?
Can he smell my pheromones? “Tell me, Safia…” He leans in deeper, closer, and my eyes are no longer open.
They can’t be. “When I’m this fucking close to you…
” His calloused fingers graze my cheek. “When I can taste you so fucking easily…” Oh, God.
His touch is scalding, an inferno of chaos and power and control.
“Do you find this situation simple?” His lips brush against the shell of my ear. “Or complex?”
My pulse quickens, heart thudding against my ribcage. He shifts his angle, his breath warm against my lips, tempting and intoxicating. Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to close the gap, to press my lips against his, to give him an answer.
Simple. It’s so goddamn simple.
But before I can make a decision, before either of us can act on the tension crackling between us, the sharp sound of gunshots shatters the moment.
My body tenses as a car screeches past the alley, tires skidding against the pavement.
Theo reacts instantly.
In one swift movement, he tackles me to the ground, his body shielding mine as gunfire echoes down the narrow alley.
My breath is knocked out of me as we hit the pavement, my ankle twisting painfully beneath me. I can barely process the pain before Theo draws his gun from its holster.
He fires several shots at the tires but misses. I watch in a daze as the car speeds away, disappearing into the night. My heart races, adrenaline pumping through my veins.
Holy shit.
Theo stands over me, his gun still raised. He scans the alley for any additional threats. My ankle throbs, a dull ache at the back of my head, but the shock numbs the pain.
Theo’s voice is low and commanding as he pulls out his phone. “This is Agent Kane with the FBI, badge number J10027. I need an APB put out on a blue Toyota Corolla, no plates, heading east on 3rd Street, corner of Newton. Suspect is armed and dangerous.”
The back door to The Junction bursts open, and half a dozen agents and cops pour out, weapons drawn. They fan out, securing the area, while Theo finishes his call.
My hands shake uncontrollably as I struggle to sit up. The puddles on the ground have soaked through my clothes, making them cling uncomfortably to my skin.
Gigi is the first to reach us, frowning as she looks around. Theo turns to her, his expression grim.
“It’s Kross.”
My stomach twists at the mention of Kaleb Kross.
Theo crouches down beside me, scanning me from head to toe, assessing the damage.
“You’re hurt.” He curses under his breath. “Don’t move.”
Before I can protest, he tosses his car keys to Gigi. “Bring the SUV around,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.
As Gigi rushes off to get the car, Theo loops his arms under my body and lifts me off the ground, cradling me against his chest. The motion is gentle, but there’s a strength in his hold, a protectiveness that makes my heart ache with longing for something I’ve never had.
His grip is tight, almost painful, as if he’s afraid to let go.
“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says.
“No,” I protest weakly. “I’m fine, really. I think… I think it’s just a sprained ankle.”
His jaw clenches, and he doesn’t respond. He keeps walking, carrying me as if I weigh nothing, his arms wrapped securely around me.
Gigi pulls the SUV up to the curb, and Theo gently lowers me into the front seat, making sure I’m comfortable before he steps back.
“I’ll be one minute,” he tells me, and then he strides over to the other officers, running a frustrated hand through his hair as he speaks with them. His posture is tense, controlled, but I can sense the underlying fury that simmers under his composed exterior.
A minute later, he’s back in the vehicle, sliding into the driver’s seat without a word.
The silence between us is thick. I don’t know how to break it, don’t know what to say as Theo begins driving.
He told the officers it was Kross. Theo has no empirical data to back up that claim, but even I know it to be true.
Were those bullets meant for me? Am I supposed to be dead right now?
Dread cripples me.
When we arrive at his apartment, Theo doesn’t hesitate. He carries me upstairs and sets me down on the couch, his expression unreadable. The alcohol buzzes through me, dulling the edges of the pain in my ankle and the pounding in my temples.
Theo disappears down the hall and returns with a big T-shirt and an ice pack.
“Change,” he demands, handing me the shirt.
I take the shirt from him, my hands trembling slightly as I look up at him. “I…”
“What?” he snaps.
I frown, taken aback by the sharpness in his voice.
Is he angry at me? Did I do something wrong?
“I… I need help unzipping.”
“Christ,” Theo hisses, clenching his fist. “Fine. Turn around.”
As carefully as I can, I shift my position on the couch. The cushion dips as he sits beside me, his presence radiating heat, making me hot.
Theo finds the zipper at the back of my dress. Slowly, he tugs it down, his fingers lingering at the base of my spine as the zipper comes undone. My skin tingles, my breath catching as his hands glide down the length of my back, his touch gentle, careful, explorative.
The room grows stifling, and I try to steady my breathing, but it’s impossible with the way his fingers are trailing down my skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. And then, before I can stop myself, a tiny moan escapes my lips.
Poor impulse control—check.
Theo’s reaction is immediate. His hand wraps around the base of my throat, not tight, but firm enough to make my pulse race. He pulls me back against his chest, his breaths heady and ragged. The strength in his grip, the raw power coursing through him, it both destroys and empowers me.
In a hoarse, almost beastly voice, he rasps, “You are not allowed to die, Safia Hadid. Do you understand?”
My head spins with a mix of adrenaline, fear, and blissful inhibition.
My core burns, screaming for release from the tension coiling inside me.
I’m drowning in the intensity of it all, in the ferocity of his words, his touch.
His tacit, corrupt promises. I’ve never been touched this way before.
I’ve never wanted to be touched this way.
But now that I have, now that I’ve seen a sliver of what’s to come, of what to expect, I need more. I want more.
And so does he.
“Theo…”
His grip on my throat loosens, and then, as quickly as it started, he lets go. He jumps to his feet, putting distance between us as if he’s been electrocuted.
Before I can turn to face him, Theo storms out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind him. The echo of his departure reverberates through the apartment, leaving me in stunned silence.
I sit there, my dress half unzipped, my body still buzzing, my mind reeling.
Minutes pass. And then hours. Sleep evades me like a polarizing magnet.
I sit on the couch, a throw blanket over my lap.
I’ve changed the ice pack four times. That’s how long he’s been gone.
A cup of tepid coffee rests on the side table.
I’ve reheated it four times as well. But I don’t need the caffeine. My eyes refuse to shut, to wind down.
Where is he? Where did he go?
Like an idiot, I scrunch the fabric of his T-shirt and bring it to my nose. It smells like him. It’s not a sweet scent. It’s not flowers or vanilla or sugar. It’s something rich. Something complicated. There are layers, each more complex than the last. Complex. Like every goddamn thing about him.
I know I should feel afraid. I was shot at tonight.
I was a target. But fear isn’t commanding the controls of my psyche, anger is.
It’s been a slow buildup. That’s what hours of solitude can do to a person.
Studies have shown that solitary confinement in prisons can lead to depression, anxiety, aggression, and paranoia. Some even lose their minds.
I’m not saying I’m in the same position as those people, the ones who suffer alone between four walls, but I can sympathize.
Whatever fuel was running through my body dissipates as hours tick on by, and I slowly slip in and out of sleep. It doesn’t last long. Cats always come back. They return. Whether a tabby or a full-blown lion, they never stray too far from home.
I hear the noise again. The same slamming I heard the night before.
My eyes spring open, and I jerk upright.
Theo stands in the hallway. I kept the light on for a reason. Not because I’m afraid of the dark. But because I want to see what darkness looks like in the light.
Theo doesn’t move, and my gaze flits across his cold features to the blood splattered across his bruised and battered knuckles.
What the hell did he do?