Chapter Nine #3
“I was touching your ass.”
“Same neighborhood.”
She laughs, and I grin despite myself.
Then her smile fades.
“How long have you really wanted me?”
I look at her. “Long.”
“That’s vague.”
“Ain’t writing a timeline.”
“Try.”
I exhale. “First time I saw you wrestle, I thought you were hot.”
“Obviously.”
“Arrogant.”
“You started it.”
“Then I saw you arrest a man twice your weight without wrinkling your shirt.”
“Skills.”
“Then you gave me a ticket and smiled when I called you a pain in my ass.”
“You deserved it.”
“Probably.”
She waits, because apparently she ain’t letting me off that easy.
I hate the next part because it sounds too close to honesty.
“Every time you walk into a room, I know it.”
Her face goes quiet. Shit. Too much.
I recover the only way I know how. “Mostly because you’re loud.”
She smacks my shoulder.
“Can’t let you get soft on me.”
“Trust me, ain’t the one going soft.”
Her gaze drops deliberately.
I bark out a laugh. “Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“Deputy Dix got jokes.”
“Southern charm.”
“Your version’s mean.”
“My daddy raised me right.”
Neither of us moves. Her fingers stay hooked behind my neck, my hands rest at her waist, and the hum of the refrigerator seems louder now that neither of us is filling the basement with bullshit.
This ain’t a game anymore. That’s the problem.
I reach for the cuffs.
Twila notices immediately. “What’re you doing?”
“Taking them off.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Need your hands free if you’re gonna keep hitting on me.”
“Bullshit.”
I pull the key from my pocket and unlock the first cuff, then the second.
The metal falls away.
Twila rubs her wrists, and red marks circle both of them.
I fucking hate seeing those. Not because the cuffs did something on their own. Because I put them there.
My thumb brushes one mark before I think better of it.
Her eyes lift to mine. “You trust me now?”
“Nope.”
“Then why’d you do that? You think you can stop me if I run?”
“Yeah.”
She smiles. “Cocky.”
“Very.”
Twila slides off my lap slowly enough that every part of her drags over every part of me I currently need her nowhere near.
I close my eyes. “Woman.”
“What?”
“Trying to kill me?”
“Thought about it.” She steals my line.
When I open my eyes, she’s smiling. Not the fake sweet smile from when I came downstairs. Not the deputy smirk. Not the one she put on because she wanted my keys.
Just Twila.
That one’s the dangerous one. I stand because I need space before I make another terrible decision.
“I’m going upstairs.”
“Why?”
“Because Mama taught me to walk away from temptation.”
“She also chain women in her basement?”
“No. That’s a family tradition I started today.”
Twila snorts.
I head toward the stairs. “Try ‘em.”
“You’re just leaving?”
“Yep.”
“What if I run?”
“I’ll catch you.”
I climb three steps before she calls my name.
“Whiskey.”
I turn.
She’s standing beside the couch rubbing her wrists.
“Try kissing me again and I might deck you.”
My cock twitches.
I point at her. “Keep running that mouth, Blondie. See how long my good intentions last.”
“Coward.”
“Smart enough to retreat.”
“Thought Kings didn’t retreat.”
“We regroup.”
“Sounds cowardly.”
“Sounds like I ain’t fucking Sheriff Dix’s daughter in my mama’s basement after kidnapping her.”
She laughs.
I leave fighting the urge to go back.
Upstairs, I brace both hands against Mama’s kitchen counter until the laminate digs into my palms. Breathing don’t help. Neither does counting.
Twila Dix tried to seduce me for my keys. I knew exactly what she was doing, played along anyway, and then let her climb into my lap because apparently I qualify for some kind of mental evaluation.
I reach into my pocket. Nothing. My fingers sweep the inside once before I check again.
No keys.
“Motherfucker.”
I pat the other pocket.
Wallet and phone.
Still no keys.
A laugh nearly gets out.
I should go downstairs, take them back, and cuff her again. An hour ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it.
Instead, I lean against the counter and listen.
No basement door. No footsteps crossing Mama’s floor. No front door opening.
A minute passes, then another.
Five.
I stay where I am.
Twila has my keys. She’s uncuffed. There ain’t a damn thing between her and the road except a flight of stairs and a door.
If she wants to leave, she can.
Ten minutes later, I finally head downstairs.
Twila is sitting on the couch, free and uncuffed, with my keys dangling from one finger.
She looks up. “Took you long enough.”
I stop at the bottom step. “You could’ve left.”
“Yep.”
“You didn’t.”
“Nope.”
She tosses the keys.
I catch them against my chest.
“Your security sucks.”
I stare at her while she picks up the rest of her barbecue sandwich like nothing happened.
But something did. She had the keys, the stairs, the door, and every reason in the world to run.
And she stayed.
I close my hand around the keys. “Blondie.”
She takes a bite. “What?”
“You’re gonna be trouble.”
Her eyes meet mine. “Whiskey, I’ve been trouble this whole damn time.”
Yeah.
She has.
The difference is now I ain’t sure I want her to stop.