Page 98 of Mercenary
This man is after your sister.
Beware.
Be . . . careful.
I hurriedly pull on khaki shorts, a loose navy T-shirt, and sandals. My hair’s pulled back into a semiwet ponytail. Not really dressed for company, but it’s not like I initiated this.
Hopefully, he’ll be reasonable. I square my shoulders and make my way into the kitchen.
Hayden immediately catches me off guard. He’s not sitting at the table as expected, just like Declan had been earlier when we worked out a few issues. Hayden leans against the sink with his arms folded across his chest in a nonchalant manner. Yet there’s something about this man that makes you feel like you’re swimming with a shark.
“Madelyn.”
“Hayden.” I brush pass him and make a beeline for the refrigerator. “Do you want a beer?” I ask, ignoring the fact I’m playing host in what is likely his home. Not waiting for his response, I retrieve two Coronas from the refrigerator, pop off the caps, and hand him one. And as subtly as possible, I move out of his reach and take a seat at the table.
He stares down at the bottle, thoughtfully. “You slip anything inside here?”
I blanch. Oh my God. How did he guess I was even considering doing so? “No. If you don’t believe me, grab another beer. Or, given how you seem so conservative in that suit, have a bottle of water. A few bottles are on the floor in Declan’s room.”
“You think I’m a conservative man?” he asks, before taking a long, drawn-out drink from the beer I handed him.
“No. A conservative person would sip his beer,” I say, arching an eyebrow. “My roommate always said you can tell a man by what he drinks.”
“What else would she say about me?” he asks indifferently, yet nothing about him is nonchalant.
That you’re just her type.
God, he is, too. Dark-haired. Built like a World Cup soccer player . . . in the natural light filtering into the kitchen, it’s clear his suit does a poor job of hiding his muscled physique. Factor in that silly man bun . . . a sign there’s a wildness inside him? Sweet Mary, this man’s the ultimate bad boy, and exactly Luciana’s type.
What do I want him to believe she’d say about someone like him?
“That you’re an intelligent man,” I murmur, recovering. “That you will listen to reason.”
He pulls out the same chair Declan sat in and glowered at me from a day earlier, and with a grunt, sits down. “I’m listening.”
Knock me off my chair. Is it really going to be that easy?
“My sister doesn’t break promises.”
“I’ve waited four months. I hired amateurs . . . fools . . . to find her, giving her a chance to turn herself in. If she’s innocent, why is she running?”
“She’s afraid of you.”
“She’s a smart woman.” He takes another sip, and another. There’s an uncomfortable pause weighing heavy in the air that causes me to shift in my seat. Then he quietly asks, “Who told you my name?”
Whoosh. Suddenly, I can’t breathe.
“Kylie?”
I sip my beer, desperately hoping the alcohol will kick in and calm my nerves.
“Or Declan? Lover boy has been busy, I see.”
I ignore the implication in his words and decide to tell him the truth. “Getting anything out of Declan is like squeezing milk out of a bull.”
“So Kylie talked.”
I sigh. “Barely. If someone you loved were in danger, wouldn’t you warn them?” I reason with him.
