“Because I can.”
Now that, I understand. How intriguing. Just how much do I actually know about her?
She clears her throat. “Again, why the unplanned kidnapping?”
“Sources informed me about the raid on the club, which was focused on you. To kill or take, I don’t know. So I decided to take you first.”
Her nostrils flare. “You’re a killer and I don’t like you.”
“Yes I am, and I don’t care.”
Her jaw tightens. “I need to contact my friends.”
“No.” I lean to the side and scoop up a spoonful of scrambled eggs to press against her mouth.
Glaring, she accepts the treat and swallows. “Please.”
Please. Said as a soft entreaty. I would’ve instantly shut down yelling or demands, or even worse, crying. But the gentle request hits me hard in the chest. Why, I don’t know, since there’s nothing in there. Is she playing me?
She tilts her head, studying me right back. Most people can’t maintain eye contact with me for long. Oh, she struggles, but her shoulders tighten and she meets my gaze, her blush deepening.
I admire that. Hell. I knew I wanted her—not in a million years did I expect to like her. “Why?” I ask.
She blinks. Finally. “They’ll be worried about me.”
I find it interesting that she wants to reassure her friends, not her family. “I’m sure your merry band of do-gooders can survive without you for a short time.”
Surprise darkens her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb,” I warn her. “I know all about Rosalie, Ella, and once in a while Merlin, who lives at Rosalie’s boardinghouse for the ancient. Getting the state senator’s wife to safety was a risky proposition. Good job on that.” I feed her another bite before focusing on her again. “I understand you don’t have a way to dispose of the senator. I would be happy to do so for you.”
She sips her coffee again, obviously thinking through my offer.
Fuck. I like her even more.
Regret turns down her plush lips. “Thank you, but I don’t want that on either of our souls.”
Her answer surprises me. “My soul is black as tar. Don’t worry about it.”
Her chin lifts. “It’s never too late to reform, Thorn. I won’t be responsible for adding to your burdens.”
That makes zero sense. I’ve kidnapped her, for crap’s sake. I reach for a wooden spoon with garnets decorating its handle and stir the eggs on the platter.
Mrs. Pendrake hustles in from the nearby laundry room with another carafe of coffee. “I didn’t know if you wanted decaf.” She places it on the counter.
Alana stiffens.
I frown and turn, looking at Mrs. Pendrake as an outsider would. She’s around sixty with spiky white hair and burn marks down one side of her face into her clothing from a fire she barely survived in her thirties. Before I hired her to manage my homes. Tattoos line her neck and arms, and she has more piercings in her face than ten rebellious teenagers put together. She’s box-shaped and wearing old jeans and a bright blue sweatshirt that makes her look even boxier. “Alana, this is Mrs. Pendrake. She’ll get you anything you want.”
Mrs. Pendrake nods, her expression blank. “There’s a notepad in the drawer by the fridge. Leave me a list, and I’ll go shopping immediately.” She glances at me. “Two cameras caught you in downtown San Francisco last night. I’m having them wiped but will need more discretionary cash.”
“Of course.” I fight a grin as Alana tries to press her knees together and force me out from between her legs. Nobody will ever force me out of this place, and she might as well learn that now. So I grasp her thighs and spread them further apart, digging in my thumbs, the countertop cold against my legs.
The little squeak she makes sends a dark thrill through me.
Mrs. Pendrake turns and leaves, no doubt hiding her disapproval. I don’t care.
Alana looks at her half-full coffee mug.
“I wouldn’t,” I warn.
“You have no sense of decorum,” she snaps, smartly deciding not to toss the liquid at my face. “What were you doing in San Francisco last night that you don’t want on camera?”
“Killing five people.” I had promised her no lies.
She pales, but unmistakable interest shows in her expression. “Why?”
“Because I wanted to.” Sometimes the simplest explanation is best.
A knock on the side door has her jumping. “Come in,” I call out.
She struggles again and I press in, lifting her thighs and forcing her to either wrap them around my waist or fall back on the counter. Grunting, she puts down the coffee mug and grabs my shirt for balance. “You’re such an ass.”
Maybe, but her thighs are wrapped around me and unwilling desire is darkening her eyes.
The side door opens and Justice walks in, his intense gaze taking in the scene. “While this is cozy, even with the news blacked out, you need to know that the entire fucking city is on high alert because of her disappearance.” He speaks in Gaelic, which might be considered rude.
Alana just looks at him. Is she accustomed to being dismissed in such a way? I find I don’t like that. At all.
