Page 13 of The Heir's Defiance

“Because I’ll ruin you if you don’t.” My jaw sets, eyes squinting at him. I hope I look like a badass and not just his boss's daughter.

He stares at me—blinks once—and I let the folder drop open just enough for him to see the top photo. His gaze lands hard, and something in him stutters. “You don’t want to threaten me, Nora.” His voice is gravelly and low. He thinks he can intimidate me and it will make me back off, but he's wrong—dead wrong.

“I don’t want to have to do this,” I reply, “but here we are.”

He doesn’t reach for the photo, doesn’t deny what it insinuates, just swears under his breath and glances toward the security post at the edge of the drive.

“You show that to your father and you’ll start a fire you can’t control.”

“I’m counting on it.” I'm grinning now because I have him right where I want him and he knows it. I don't care that my mother fucks him behind my father's back. I think the entire world would understand the position he has her in. It's impossible. And like me, I think she's been mistreated. Women in this world deserve better. But Liam?

He looks at me again, longer this time. His mouth opens, then shuts, and for one brief second, I think he might swing at me—then I remember I’m not a man, and that makes it easier for him to pretend this isn’t happening. Besides, my father would have him gutted if he harmed me—even with our poor relationship.

“I’ll need to log it,” he mutters.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” I smile now, slow and full of teeth. “You’ll drive me there yourself. No log, no backup, no word to anyone. You're off duty, right? No one tracks you when you're off work.”

“You planning on dying in that apartment?” He's angry. I can see it in his eyes, but he knows I have him. He can't say no to me.

“Not tonight.”

He grinds out the cigarette on the stone and exhales through his nose. Then, quietly, “Fine.”

He goes to retrieve the keys without another word, and ten minutes later, I’m in the backseat of a nondescript black sedan with Liam behind the wheel. The city slips past outside—narrow turns, flickering streetlamps, a neon sign for a closed liquor store that hums even with no one there to see it.

He doesn’t speak until we’re five minutes from the flat. “You think this’ll buy you time?”

“I don’t need time. I need space.” He thinks I'm still on the hook for marrying Volkov and doesn't realize I've ended that arrangement permanently.

He doesn’t look at me. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Nora.”

“And you’re pretending you’re not…” Finally, his eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror and I can see how tame he is, like a caged wild animal. He can't do a thing about this.

Silence stretches again. His knuckles flex around the wheel. “She was the one who called me,” he mutters finally.

“I don’t care who called who.” My voice sharpens. “You think I’m holding this because I’m mad about the sex? You’re a fool. I’m holding this because you’re sloppy. And sloppy men are tools. I can use a tool.”

The street narrows ahead of us. He turns left without signaling and pulls into a short, cracked driveway that leads to a squatbrick building with a rusted gate and no lights on. The place is quiet—too quiet. The kind of building you walk past without seeing.

He kills the engine.

“Give me your phone,” I say.

He hesitates, then pulls it from his jacket pocket and passes it back. I turn it off and tuck it into my coat.

“You’ll get it back when I’m done.”

“And when will that be?” he asks.

“When I say.” I glare at him and huff. “Come back at midnight. No sooner.”

I step out into the night. He doesn’t follow. He just stays in the driver’s seat, watching.

The keys are already in my hand. I cross to the door and slide one into the lock. It turns easier than I expected. I look over my shoulder to see the sedan's taillights vanishing in the distance and grin at myself for being so crafty.

Inside, the place is stripped bare but intact—cheap furniture, clean floor, no signs of recent use. Just what I need. I text Connor the address. Then I shut the door and lock it behind me and pace in front of the windows, waiting for headlights to show in the driveway again.

When the knock finally comes, I know it’s him. I open the door, and Connor steps inside without waiting for an invitation. His coat is half unbuttoned, his eyes dark this evening. He stalks in, and I shut the door behind him, suddenly feeling a bit shy.

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