Page 151 of Lady Killer

You and Nixon . . .

Did he regret it? Did I?

“You believe him?”

Deciding that the underwear was a lost cause, I started looking around the room for my missing leggings. Where were we even?

I knew we were in Nixon’s room, but I didn’t know if that was at the estate or the townhouse.

Where had they taken me? And where was Michael?

There were too many questions, and my head continued to spin.

Pants. I needed pants.

Sliding to the edge of the bed, I attempted to be as quiet as possible, for reasons I couldn’t explain to myself.

“Shall I take a turn, little brother?”

Nixon’s drawl brought me back from my escape plans. His easy return to his usual leering self made my stomach fill with acid.

That was when reality hit me like a runaway train.

Alister. Everest.

I hadn’t . . . We weren’t . . . After everything that had happened with Lucian . . . But this was Nixon . . . I didn’t . . .

“The threat remains then.”

My knees gave out, and I grabbed onto the bed.

Michael wasn’t the killer.

My swollen throat shrunk, and my lungs seized up.

It was too much. This was too much.

I couldn’t breathe under the weight of it all.

I needed to breathe.

Stepping lightly on my feet, with one eye on Nixon’s shadowy form, I went for the door. My hand wrapped around the handle.

Nixon turned on me like a hawk, staring me down over his shoulder, phone still pressed to his ear.

My stomach churned.

“I have to . . .” I trailed off as I found myself at a loss for words.

In the shadows, his blue eyes had turned black.

Thunder boomed, causing me to jump and shattering the silence brewing between us.

Lightning followed several beats later, setting the room ablaze for a split second, revealing a dizzying amount of visual information to take in at once.

The walls were covered in paintings. Bright, bold, colorful. Frightening. Enchanting.

They had nothing on Nixon.

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