Page 19 of Bound By Her

And so, they were at an impasse.

“For how long?” Callen asked. She blinked, not understanding the question. “The stabling, how long?”

“Two years.” She blurted out the standard time frame her and Loretta had created. “One year of training and an additional year of service post sale.”

“Tatal a vorbi aiurea.” Bryson swore in Romanian.

When his father did not respond, he continued, “The Triune will side with you, father, not with this catea.”

She shook her head. He did not know when to quit. Literally demonstrating what she had just admonished him about. She started to say as much, but when she looked at Bryson, something in his face stopped her. He was scared, but not of her. Adria looked over and found Callen’s eyes had gone cold.

The mask coming off. Men didn’t like to lose, and thiswas especially true for men like Callen. Adria needed to give him something. “Of course, Callen, we can always formally agree to revisit this contract in, say, five years? I would be open to that as well.”

There, now they could both leave the table and save face. She would have time to finalize details with X, and before this meeting was due to reconvene, Adria would have her port and a seat at the table with the Triune. Callen wouldn’t be able to strong arm her then.

She watched Callen snuff his cigar out on the wooden table. His lips twitching, a flicker of something crossing his face before he hid it behind a thin smile. “I agree to your terms.”

Adria’s pulsestopped.

“What?” she and Bryson said in unison.

Callen smiled.

And this time, it reached his eyes.

CHAPTER 5

NORTH CAROLINA

The knot in Adria’s chest eased as the Charlotte skyline came into view. The flight hadn’t been full, but the sparse passengers were enough to keep her and Eric from speaking freely. She welcomed the silence. It gave her time to think.

How had Callen known out about the land? Was it luck? Timing? Or something more sinister?

A flight attendant moved past, offering snacks. Eric accepted a soda and a bag of chips. Adria shook her head.

“I’ll take them for her, in case she changes her mind,” Eric said, his Southern drawl smooth as always.

Adria nearly rolled her eyes when the attendant stuck out her hip and smiled while handing him the chips. Eric had that effect—his salt-and-pepper stubble, broad frame, and polite, Southern charm made women swoon wherever they went. He never lacked for partners at the club, but Adria had never seen him date. When asked, he’d joke that he was married to his work.

In truth, he was married to hers.

They had been together nearly ten years. At first, she refused to give him her brand, not because he wasn’tworthy, but because she didn’t want to condemn him to this life. Being a Right Hand meant more than loyalty. It meant permanent membership in the Nine. No wife. No children. No future outside her shadow. It was a vow made in flesh.

But Eric had insisted. And three years in, after endless nudging, she finally relented.

Now, he opened the car door, and she slid into the backseat of her Maserati Grecale. The tinted windows bathed her in darkness. The scent of lavender and leather greeted her, and she leaned back, exhaling.

As Eric drove, pines and oaks blurred past in flashes of green and shadow. She was home.

“When I was a kid,” Eric said from the driver’s seat, breaking the silence, “some boys and I took a raft down a river. It was crazier than we expected. No paddles, just a stick we called an oar.”

“Eric, I have a headache,” she muttered, forehead pressed to the window.

After her father died, she’d needed a clean slate. At seventeen, fresh out of high school, she fired every last member of his staff—down to the gardener. She redecorated the house, rebuilt her security, and cycled through bodyguards like cheap wine.

Then came Eric. And he stayed.

He cracked the window, letting in the warm breeze.

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