Page 65 of Sins of a King
“You’re not doing a good job of reassuring me,” I said.
“You were drugged. In my club. And you were almost put into a cab by a stranger. I don’t need to tell you to be on your guard.”
A shiver of fear raced down my back, and I rubbed my arms, suddenly cold.
Flynn’s gaze was angry. “I should let you go.”
“Go?” I murmured. “Go where? Back to my other life? I can’t go back. Even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”
“But your job—you loved your job. You can still go back to that. I made sure of it.”
I glanced at him. “Yeah, my boss was pretty accommodating. Why?”
Flynn let out a small, self-satisfied laugh. “I made a huge donation to the department.”
“Even back when you hardly knew me, you were trying to take care of me,” I whispered. “Keep your secrets for now, Flynn. I’ll try to be more patient.”
The intercom buzzed, and before I could get up to answer it, Flynn was there. He let in the Thai delivery guy and a few moments later, handed over some cash. We sat on the floor, eating out of containers, and using takeout chopsticks.
“There’s a reason I mentioned Giovanni Marino,” Flynn said, picking up the thread of our earlier conversation.
“Oh?” I’d completely forgotten about the leader of the Italian mob.
“He might have some knowledge about who drugged you.”
“What makes you think so?”
Flynn went quiet.
“One of those don’t ask don’t tell things, huh?”
“Aye.”
“Are there going to be a lot of those?” I grumbled.
“Probably,” he said, reaching for a bite of my curry. “I’m going to pay him a little visit.”
“And you think he’ll just give up information?”
“Perhaps. You’ll be coming with me.”
“Why are you going to take me to a mob boss? What about protecting me and keeping me out of danger?”
“Bringing you will send a message,” Flynn said.
“God damn, you’re cryptic.”
“A man doesn’t go to Marino’s turf without flaunting what he has,” he attempted to explain.
“You don’t ‘have’ me.”
“No? I beg to differ.”
“Girlfriend does not equate possession,” I pointed out.
His eyes skimmed the length of my body, including my bare legs. “You’re in my shirt.”
“And that means what?”
