Page 68 of Desperate Crimes
All muscle and mystery and male?
He’s a walking sin.
And I’m already halfway damned.
Chapter Eighteen-Leanna
Yep.
The Hades vibes are real.
And I can’t tell anymore if I’m the stolen bride or the one who walked willingly into the underworld in silk and high heels, whispering take me.
“So, um, where are we, exactly?” I ask, forcing my voice to sound casual as we pause by the massive wall of glass overlooking the garden.
Another Christmas garden.
Like the one hidden behind the door in the bedroom. Only this one is breathtaking—larger, wilder.
A maze of rosebushes in every imaginable color coils through the lawn like something out of a fever dream.
The black roses have the spotlight and are planted in all the best places.
Tall pine trees stand like quiet sentries, framing the space with reverence.
There’s even a hint of mist curling along the ground, like the air itself knows how to set a scene.
And the worst—or best—part?
It feels like it was built for me.
Every inch of it.
That thought alone sends a tremble through my core.
He glances at me, then back out at the garden like it’s nothing.
Like he didn’t just tear me out of my life and drop me into a gothic romance fantasy with blood-warmed gazes and obsession-soaked roses.
“An hour south of the city,” he says softly. “Two hours from your cousin’s place.”
My breath catches.
Lucy.
Her house.
The party.
Where I was just last night.
Panic flickers in my chest.
Shit. My phone. Where the hell is my phone?
They must be looking for me by now.
Mom’s probably already filed a police report, given the media her favorite headshot, and assumed I’ve been trafficked or murdered.
