Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
She is scared and prone to flee, but one day, I will tame her to my hand. And I will tell her everything.
There’s a creak in the hall outside the door. Hamish can move quietly when he wants to. He’s letting me hear him.
“In here, Hamish,” I call.
“Sir.” He appears. Even though I’m half a foot taller than him, he manages to look down his nose disapprovingly at me. “Senator Nero has sent an invitation to a masked ball next week.”
“Tell him I’m busy.”
“Is that wise?” He knows the efforts I’ve taken to court the temperamental senator. Nero is powerful and prone to flying into rages.
“Tell him I have a new toy. And I’m in the mood to play with her.”
Hamish pauses long enough to let the silence voice his displeasure. “Is that all?”
“That’s all. He’ll understand.”
“The Times also sent over a few pictures that they’ll run with your permission.”
“How kind of them.” It’s easy enough to cultivate a relationship with the press and ensure any news they run upholds my reputation. All you have to do is own the country’s most respected newspaper and a television channel or two.
He hands me a stack of photos, and I flip through them. They’re all of me—laughing, talking with other donors, shaking Chief Jordan’s hands. Same old, same old. I toss each of them on the dresser until I come to one that makes me grit my teeth.
“Not this one.” I hold up the photo. It’s black and white and shows me dancing with Inara in my arms. Her face is turned down, her profile unclear, but rage surges through me.
No one intrudes on a private moment between me and my little bird.
I wave the offending photo. “I want all the prints of this and any photograph like it. Including the negatives. Find the photographer and buy their equipment, too.”
Hamish raises a bushy eyebrow, but he doesn’t argue. He’s used to these sorts of requests. “And if they won’t sell?”
“Offer to upgrade their equipment. And make it clear that we’ll be confiscating said equipment whether they comply or not.” I’m not above being a thug if I have to.
“Consider it done. There’s one more thing.” He produces another photo. This one is blurred, caught on a street cam. It shows a helmeted, armored figure leaping from one rooftop to another. “The stealth suit isn’t as invisible as you’d hoped.”
“I’ll tell the team.”
Hamish clears his throat in a way that tells me he’s prepared a lecture. “If you intend to remove certain targets from the city, it would be wise to allow me to complete the mission prep.”
“It was a spur of the moment.” The camera caught me on the night Inara had been assaulted. “I lost my temper. It won’t happen again.”
“Gallivanting about the city on unauthorized missions leads to exposure. Remember that.”
He takes his leave, and I go back to studying the photograph of me and Inara. I remember my little bird’s fragile expression, the anger and longing warring in her eyes as we moved in sync across the ballroom floor. The photographer had caught the tension between our bodies and the way she curls toward me when she’s let down her guard.
Behind us, the camera also caught an onlooker staring at us. Sebastian St. James, who’s been both a business partner and a worthy adversary.
When it comes to my little bird, I won’t take any chances. St. James has a way of rooting out a person’s weakness and leaning on them for sport. I won’t allow him near her.
But he’s the least of my problems. Inara is frightened. Not of me but herself.
Allowing her department to find the body of her second assaulter took the heat off her. She’s no longer the main suspect.
I meant it to be a gift to her, but it was obviously too much, too soon. She’s backed off, and I can’t have that.
I need to make her come to me.
18
Inara
With his soft murmur lingering in my ears, it’s no wonder I dream of him.
I’m kneeling with rope wound around my bare torso and up my arms. The rope is bright red, framing my golden skin. It’s tight but not constricting.
The flat leather tongue of a crop trails over my chest, giving me goosebumps.
“You look so pretty, little bird.” It’s Rex, pacing a circle around me. His pant leg brushes my ponytail. He’s wound the rope around my head and down the length of my hair. I can’t move unless he wills it.
The weight of the rope and his presence are comforting. I’m bound but free. . .
“Swallow?”
A muffled squawk in my ear makes me jerk awake.
“Swallow? Are you there?”
I’m holding my phone. It must have rung, and I answered it in my sleep.
I recognize the voice. “Mina?”
“Shhh,” she sounds spooked. “It’s KittyBang.”
Why is she using our code names? I sit up and squint at the clock. It reads ten past three in the morning. “What’s wrong?”