Page 17 of Duke of Ruin

“Eli?” I hear his voice directly in front of me. I jerk my head down to see him pushing through the doors. “What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

My flailing mind struggles to catch up with me. No, no I’m not alright. I have to fight not to embrace him right here in front of anyone who could be watching. I glance at my phone—I have less than an hour before I need to be at the docks.Dammit.

“Are you going somewhere?” I ask, and then my brain comes to a screeching halt as I notice what he’s wearing. Soft sweatpants outline the muscles in his legs and the bulge of his dick, and a tight silky T-shirt leaves nothing about his chest and torso to the imagination. My dick twitches in anticipation.

“I couldn’t sleep. I was going for a run,” he says as he takes a step closer to me. Concern is written all over his face, but as he gets closer it morphs into something else.

“At midnight?” I ask incredulously, and watch as his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

“Yeah, at midnight,” he says through clenched teeth. “Is that a problem?”

“Looks more like you’re going to meet up with someone,” I say. I don’t know why; it’s like something just broke inside me. His whole body tenses.

“Looks like you already did,” he shoots back, and I glance at my reflection in the double doors. Shit, I look like hell. Lipstick is smeared across half my face and the front of my shirt is untucked. I look like I just rolled out of some woman’s bed. My shoulders droop and I finally gather what’s left of my senses. I glance at my phone again.

“I’m sorry, Noah,” I say without looking at him.

“For what?” he asks. His voice is tight and his fists are clenched.

“Can you ride with me? I can explain,” I say. I look up at him. His eyes are narrowed as they search my face.

“Where are you going?” he asks. His body is still tightly coiled, and I’m suddenly very afraid that I’ve fucked up completely.

“I…I have to be at the docks in about forty minutes,” I answer quickly. “Please, just come with me so we can talk.”

He looks at me, his dark eyes assessing as they rove over me. My heart starts pounding as the minutes drag on. I don’t know how I’ll react if he says no.

“Noah, I’m…I’m a mess. Just come with me,” I say again. I’m practically begging this man for attention. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Okay,” he says, and my heart skips a beat.

“Okay?” I ask, making sure I heard him correctly.

“Okay, let’s go,” he says, and takes a step toward my car.

I struggle to keep a stupid fucking grin off my face as I walk to the driver’s side and slide into my seat. We’re barely out of the parking lot before all my emotions bubble over and I start talking. I tell him about the awful date with Sasha and her unwelcome advances. Thankfully his shoulders finally start to relax as I explain the mussed clothes and lipstick. Then I proceed to tell him about everything I’ve felt about the family—about having to hide who I am, and how I feel so trapped.

“Why don’t you leave, Eli?” Noah asks me, and the question feels so simple, so innocent.

“It’s not that simple, Noah. I can’t just walk away,” I answer as I pull up to the docks.

“I guess I just don’t understand,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

“It’s complicated,” I say as I shut off the car and turn to him. “I really shouldn’t have brought you here. If my uncle finds out he’ll kill us both.” The gravity of the situation starts to weigh on me.

“What do you need me to do?” Noah asks as he takes my hand.

“Wait here for me, and try to stay out of sight,” I say, and bring his fingers to my lips.

He nods and I glance at the clock. I need to be in there in less than five minutes. I’m cutting this way too close.

“I’ll be back soon,” I say, then step out of the car before I can change my mind. My uncle might shoot us both if he knew I brought Noah here, but my death will be much slower and more painful if I don’t show at all. I see Noah press his lips together as he sinks down into the seat. This was so stupid, but I’m here now and I just have to go with it.

I weave my way through the maze of containers until I get to the one that belongs to the Carbones. Several of my cousins are already there with hand trucks, ready to load the cargo onto several larger box trucks. I step up to speak to the security guard who’s questioning my waiting men. I straighten my shoulders and put on an air of confidence as I approach.

“You must be Officer Riley,” I say, putting out my hand. “I’m Eli Carbone.”

“Mr. Carbone,” he says. “I was expecting someone older.” He looks me up and down, but I don’t flinch. I’ve been trained for these interactions my whole life.

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