Declan mutters, “I told him that name was shite.” Then, louder: “They’re not a band.”
He goes on to describe the plot of a James Bond movie. Bad guys disguised as good guys, good guys disguised as bad guys, international espionage, corrupt governments, I don’t even know what else because I stop listening halfway through.
Sloane says, “Are you in this group?”
“We help each other out from time to time, but I’m not a member.”
“What about Kazimir?”
He looks offended. “No!”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad, I’m just asking.”
I say loudly, “Everybody shut up. I have an important question.”
Sloane and Declan look at me.
“Whoever else is in this stupid international spy-band-whatever group, do any of them have girlfriends or wives?”
Declan says instantly, “Of course.”
He realizes his mistake when I glare at him. Then he raises his hands like he’s in a holdup. “I don’t make the rules, lass.”
“You know what? This is bullshit. Get Mal on the phone.”
“You say that like you think I have his number.”
“Whoever you know that he knows, this mutual friend, call that guy and get his number!”
He’s beginning to look like he’s regretting this entire conversation. “He’s not the bloody telephone directory.”
“I have your boyfriend’s number.”
We all turn. Behind Declan in the hallway stands Spider, staring at me from under lowered brows.
“You want it?” He crooks a finger then turns around and walks away without another word.
After he’s out of earshot, Sloane says uneasily, “Why do I get the feeling there’s going to be a price attached?”
I mutter, “Blackmail’s popular for a reason,” then follow Spider out the door.
46
Riley
Spider leads me down the hallway to another bedroom and closes the door behind us. He stands with his hand on the knob, facing away from me, then says quietly, “Make me understand this.”
“There’s nothing to understand.”
He turns to me. What I see in his eyes makes me take a step back.
We stare at each other in tense silence, until he says gruffly, “Three months. I searched for you for almost three fucking months.”
I can already tell this is going to be a drama-filled conversation and brace myself for the worst. I moisten my lips and say, “I know.”
Wound tight as a spring, he steps away from the door and closer to me. His intense gaze never leaves my face.
“You know? You know what I went through? How I couldn’t eat? I couldn’t sleep? I couldn’t even close my eyes without seeing the look on your face after I shot you?”
I say gently, “It was an accident.”
His voice rises. “An accident that never would’ve happened if that son of a bitch hadn’t been in the room with you.”
A vein throbs in his neck. His breathing is erratic. He’s upset, visibly so, and part of me wants to hug him.
I know if I did, it would be a disaster.
He says bitterly, “And now you think you’re in love with him. The assassin who came to kill Declan. The man who kidnapped you and took you to another country.”
“Please, Spider—”
“The man who threw you out like trash when he was finished with you.”
That feels like a punch to the stomach.
When he sees the expression on my face, he closes his eyes and mutters, “Fuck.”
I turn away, wrap my arms around myself, and take a steadying breath.
He says, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. Look at me, lass. Please.”
When I don’t turn around, he comes to stand in front of me. He looks at my posture, how I’ve got my arms around my body, and sighs heavily, dragging a hand over his hair.
“Now you’re afraid of me. That’s bloody wonderful.”
“I’m not afraid of you. But I can’t understand why you didn’t listen to me when I begged you, over and over, not to put me on that plane. To take me back to the market. I didn’t exactly mince words.”
He pauses, then says in a gravelly voice, “You know why.”
When I don’t reply, he prompts, “Don’t you, lass?”
I hesitate. Chewing my lip, I nod.
My silence makes him bolder. “Why? Say it.”
Burning with mortification, I blurt, “Please don’t make this harder for me than it already is.”