Page 63 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

“You’ll be safe,” he reassures me. “As long as you don’t leave this house.” He slides the paper and pen toward me. “Write down Jacques Devereaux’s details. I’ll let him know when and where to pick you up.”

A hollow ache settles in my stomach. He’s leaving me behind. After everything—after the way he kissed me—I thought . . .

Thought what, exactly? That he’d upend his entire life for you? That one explosive kiss would make him forget whatever darkness drives him? Don’t be an idiot.

“How do I know Clemenza won’t come after me?” I curse the plaintive note in my voice. “He knows Uncle Jacques and all my friends in Paris—”

“Clemenza got his cut. He’ll leave you alone.”

My jaw drops. “He’s been paid? Already?”

Cade gives a non-committal grunt, and something about the tightness of his jaw sends a flicker of doubt through me.

“But, wait, if he’s cashed out, why would he threaten me this morning? He literally told me I was fucked.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, princess.” His tone is clipped, his gaze shifting to a distant point over my shoulder. “There are . . . other players in the chain.”

He says it casually, like it’s just some routine annoyance, but his body language betrays him—the slight flex of his hand, the way he avoids my eyes.

Is he involved in this? One of the players maybe?

Before I can press him on what he means, he snaps. “So, how about that email?” The detachment in his voice cuts deeper than it has any right to.

“Right.” I snatch up the pen, hating the way my hand shakes as I scrawl out the email address.

“Here.” I thrust the paper at him like it burns.

His fingers graze mine as he takes it, and the brief contact sends electricity skittering across my skin. I can’t help searching his face for any crack in that perfect mask, any hint of the man who just kissed me senseless. But there’s only a blank wall.

Without another word, I hop down the counter and storm down the hallway, my heart thudding painfully in my chest.

Don’t you dare cry, Luna. Don’t you dare fucking cry.

I make it to my room just before the first tear slips free, hot and treacherous against my cheek.

Face buried in silk pillows, I blame my utterly stupid reaction on adrenaline. Today’s been a nightmare carnival ride—waking up from a drug-induced sleep to nearly getting killed to . . . whatever that kiss was. That’s all this is. Emotional whiplash.

Because getting upset over being cut out of a trafficker’s itinerary? That would be certifiably insane.

Right?

21

Cade

Themoment she disappears down the hall, the pressure in my chest eases—like a garrote wire finally loosening its grip. But the blessed relief doesn’t last. Her presence lingers in this kitchen.

I brace my hands against the counter, jaw clenched as I survey her battlefield.

Pans scattered like fallen soldiers, the smell of burnt eggs hanging in the air—a middle finger to my usually ordered world. Every piece of evidence screams that I’ve lost control.

The woman can’t even cook herself a decent meal yet has me tied up in knots. And what’s worse is, she’s impossible to get a read on. Most people take one look at me and their instincts kick in—eyes darting away, smiles going brittle, that primal fear seeping through their pores. Men, women—doesn’t matter. They all crack the same way.

Not Luna.

She’s like a bored, jacked-up cat that keeps trying to play with me. As if I’m a toy she can wind up and then watch skip around. And behind those dark sloe eyes, she’s hiding something.

How the fuck did Kat miss that detail?

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