Page 116 of Diamond In The Rough

“Roscoe,” he nips my earlobe and chuckles when I jolt.

From pain.

Surprise.

Disgust.

“My information conflicts itself. Roscoe’s last name might be Jones, and maybe he’s in construction. But it’s hard to tell. Because records have been tampered with. It’s one thing to be away from those we love so we can make a living. Everyone has to do that. But you lie on your back for me while you’re on the clock, taking my cock like a good little slut and swallowing my cum when I tell you to. Then you just…” He bites my neck. “Then you go home to him, leaving work at the office.”

He slides his tongue over my neck, soothing where his teeth bruise. Sending bolts of pleasurable pain shooting through my stomach. I can hate him, and I can love him, at the same time. “It’s all pretend, right? But it works, and he sticks around, so I guess he’s okay with your arrangement.”

“Stop kissing me.” I harden my voice and force myself to choose hate. “Stop touching me. Stop talking to me.”

“Stop lying to me!” Shoving tall, he stalks away from my chair and over to the wall of tools. Long hammers. Pipes. Wrenches. Scissors. It’s all so meticulously hung, so neatly organized, and yet, none of it is clean.

The steel, that should be a sparkling silver, is mostly black with grease. Dirt. Gore, I’d rather not identify. Scissors that should glint in sunlight, are chipped at best, and coated in a sticky substance I refuse to acknowledge as crimson and coagulated. Selecting a long tire wrench, about the length of his arm, he flops it up to rest against his shoulder and circles back to stop in front of me. “You are the FBI, Tiia. Not a fucking antique dealer. Not just a woman in the street. Not just a female I stupidly handed my heart to. Which means you were placed in my life for a very specific reason.”

Tears stream over my cheeks. Even when I refuse myself the luxury of sobbing, of breaking down and falling apart, they still purge from my body and leave me looking foolish.

But that’s okay, because looking dumb and vapid helps in my search for anger.

“None of this was accidental, Tiia. You came to me, you slid into my life and my bed, and you sat at my dining table and watched Felix interact with the woman he loves. You came here asking questions about my family.” He flexes his hand around the tire iron, squeezing, testing. Terrifying. “You were handed a very specific brief when you took this job. What was it?”

“To observe you.”

“Don’t fucking lie!” He swings out, like a major league baseball player looking for a home run. His face burns a dangerous red and his arms bulge, muscles firing up beneath his taut skin. A scream of terror erupts from my throat, burning on its way up, tearing at my flesh. But I only catch the first half arc of his weapon, because I squeeze my eyes shut and refuse to watch him become the monster the files swear he is.

The destroyer his brief paints him as.

“Open your eyes!” He pulls his swing up short and shouts so loud, I jump in my chair. “Open your fucking eyes, Tiia, and tell me what you’re doing here.”

“Observing,” I cry, quiet, pathetic sobs rolling along my throat. “I was sent to watch over you.”

He throws his weapon so it lands on the concrete with a deafening clatter, then he takes my breath away, slamming his lips to mine and surprising my eyes wide open. “You owe me the truth. You violated my home! You desecrated my trust.” He drops his hand into his pocket and produces his beloved knife. Where everything else in this room is dirty, this one glistens. He flips the mechanism and has the silver blade popping free of the handle, then he places it at my wrist, just firm enough to make my heart stop completely. “I’m begging you, Tiia. Don’t make me hurt you. Just tell me why you were sent.”

“I’ve already told you.” My jaw quivers. Pathetic, really, how weak I am when I look into the eyes of this killer. “I wasn’t authorized for more.”

A frustrated growl rolls from his chest, erupting on a snarl that makes me startle. Then he slides his knife along my wrist, my eyes snapping closed so I don’t have to watch. My heart thundering in my chest, though soon, it’ll stop moving at all. He slices through thick leather easily, surprising me when my hand comes free and my eyes pop open. Then he grabs my hand in a tight fist, wrenching my arm so I worry about my joints. My elbow. My shoulder. His touch is rough. His eyes, fiery and homicidal.

He slams my palm to his chest, right over his heart, and stares into my eyes. “Do you feel that!? Do you feel it break?”

“Micah… Please stop.”

“In thirty-three years, I’ve survived abuse and torture at the hands of the man your people should have hunted. I’ve been shot and stabbed by my enemies. Had a part of my body amputated against my will. I’ve had to choose between my brothers, deciding which one to protect and which to leave to fend for themselves. I’ve been starved and beaten, raised a fucking baby, and witnessed that baby’s mother’s brutal murder. I’ve held a different brother down when his girlfriend was being raped and killed by my father. And I’ve managed to never fall in love. Never.”

His heart pounds beneath my palm. Heavy, racing beats that send shards of glass splintering into my veins.

“In thirty-three years, my heart has never beat for a woman. It has never broken when someone looked into my eyes and refused to tell me the truth.” His angry gaze flickers between mine. “I’ve never hurt as much as I do right now.”

“I was sent to protect you,” I blurt out, sobbing breaths wracking through my chest and making it impossible for me to catch up. I try to pull my hand free of his grip. To curl in on myself. “Joseph Wilkes has made several attempts on yours and Felix’s lives in the last several months. The FBI has deemed this unacceptable. They can’t afford to let you die right now.”

“They can’t—” He tosses my hand away and stands tall, leaving me with three limbs attached to the chair. “What?”

“If Wilkes kills a Malone,” I heave, searching for air. For my lungs to fill instead of spasm. “Then the city breaks out in a war unlike any we’ve experienced since the sixties. If that happens, several ongoing operations come crashing down.”

“Protect me?” Dumbfounded, his shoulders droop. His arms. His entire body. “You were here to protect me?”

“The drive-by today,” snot runs free of my nose and stops above my top lip. “We knew that was happening, so I called you back to the shop, knowing you wouldn’t let Felix go to the club without you.”

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