A mother fucking grenade.
He takes a small step back, wisely putting himself out of Nero’s reach.
I move my arm from behind Val to in front of her. Blocking as much of her as I can from this monster. “What do you want?”
His eyes meet mine. “Just a quick chat.”
“Could’ve called,” Nero growls.
Hans shakes his head, his long hair shifting against his shoulders. “This is more of a face-to-face thing.”
Val’s indrawn breath pulls Hans’s gaze to her.
“Don’t fucking look at her,” I snap.
But it’s not Hans who speaks next. It’s Valentine.
“It’s you,” she breathes, then turns to me. “It’s him.”
“Him who?” King asks, and I notice him trying to inch out of the booth.
Hans holds his jacket open farther, for only our table to see, showing us three more grenades hanging from inside his shirt.
King stills his movement.
“That’s the man who saved us.” Val tugs on my arm.
All eyes turn to her.
She doesn’t look scared of him at all. Doesn’t look the least bit nervous that he’s covered in explosives.
“What are you talking about?” I ask her.
She points to Hans. “That’s the man who treated your bullet wounds. He’s the one who saved our lives.”
Now all eyes turn to Hans.
He dips his chin to my wife. “It was my pleasure.”
“What do you want?” I grit out. If this is true, and I know it is, I owe this man.
And I don’t want to owe this man.
“Like I said, I just want a chat.” His stance is casual. “It’s come to my attention that you’re all under the false assumption that I do bad things.” He tips his head. “Okay, well, I do some bad things, but only to bad people. I’m not the man you’re looking for.”
“No?” I ask, because he’s right. We all do believe that he’s the man behind the new human trafficking ring. Because his name always comes up. “Then who the fuck are you?”
“I’m no one.” He takes a step back. “Just a man seeking vengeance.”
He takes another step back, lowering his jacket to hide his collection of grenades before he turns and disappears through the kitchen.
Silence reigns over the table until Savannah breaks it. “Uh, who the hell was that?”
I relax against the seat, putting my arm back around Valentine’s shoulders. “Apparently, no one.” Then I point to the plate of spring rolls Hans left on the table. “Someone pass that here. My wife is eating for two, and I mean to feed her.”
About the Author
Like all her books, S.J. Tilly resides in the glorious state of Minnesota, where she was born and raised. To avoid the freezing cold winters, S.J. enjoys burying her head in books, whether to read them or write them or listen to them.
When she’s not busy writing her contemporary smut, she can be found lounging with her husband and their herd of rescue boxers. And when the weather permits, she loves putting her compost to use in the garden, pretending to know what she’s doing. The neighbors may not like the flowery mayhem of her yard but the bees sure do. And really, that’s more important.
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Acknowledgments
As always, I gotta start out by thanking my mom for all of her help as my alpha reader and beta reader, help with edits, constant support, constant are you writing yet message, and overall awesomeness. I appreciate everything you do. And I really appreciate being able to still shock you.
Thank you to Kerissa, the best PA a chaos-brained girl could ask for. The best beta reader. And the best damn friend. You are such a good girl.
Thank you, G. Marie （go check out her books）， for being all-in on the dark romance train with me.
Thank you, Ali, for your undying support and love and for the outstanding number of times you’ve already read Dom.
Thank you, Elaine and S.L., for all the sprints and encouragement.
Thank you, Mr. Tilly, for making me so many dinners and listening to me tell you every detail of this, and every other, book. And thank you for your help in formatting and sticker design and anything else that has to do with computers.
Thank you, Lori, my absolutely amazing cover designer. Every book is just as amazing as the last.