Page 14 of When Lies Unfold

This electric kettle was a splurge—a secondhand gift to myself once I’d hit my two-year mark here—a milestone, of sorts. It was when I’d not only proven I could survive on my own, but I’d also formed a friendship with Sabrina.

While I wait for my coffee to brew, I pull up my music playlist on my phone, deciding on Shakira’s “Te Felicito.” The song playing softly in the background uplifts me from the ominous sensation that’s hovered over me since last night.

Once my cup is filled with the dark brew, I cradle my mug and inhale the rich aroma. A smile forms on my lips because it’s Saturday and I can move past all the shit that went on last night. That bastard will see that I pose no threat to him whatsoever.

I lean back against the counter, and my eyes fall closed as I take my first sip, the bold, hot liquid hitting my tongue.

“Mornin’, Miss Arias.” The deep, masculine voice that greets me causes my eyes to flare open in shock. I almost aspirate my coffee, the other half of it spraying out with my startled cough.

My heart thunders in my chest at the man casually leaning against my loveseat. Both of his hands are braced along the back of it, those long fingers decorated with black ink.

Today, he’s in a white button-down shirt that contrasts not only with his tattooed flesh, but his dark skin as well. With the fabric cuffed at his elbows, it puts those corded, inked forearms on display.

I barely register the coffee’s hot dampness soaking into my tank top as my other hand instinctively reaches for the knife I left on the counter.

His focus flickers to it. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Good thing you’re not me, then.”

A faint smirk tugs at his mouth. “Think you’d do damage before I draw my gun?”

I offer a careless shrug. “I’d rather go down with a fight.”

His mouth flattens. “I’m not here to kill you.” A pause lingers before he tacks on, “Not today.”

Fuck this smug asshole. “Then why are you here?” I grab a dish towel to blot the coffee from my tank top. “It’s five in the morning. And I’m not exactly dressed for company.”

He inspects me, starting with my messy hair twisted atop my head, then moving over my now-damp cotton tank that clings to me before lingering on my braless breasts.

I hate that my nipples pebble beneath the fabric. They’re either screwed up from being assaulted with hot coffee or starved for a man’s attention. It’s a toss-up.

His inspection continues, sweeping over my cotton shorts and down my bare legs. “I disagree.” The gleam in his eyes sends my unease to an all-time high. “Looks like you’re dressed for a certain kind of company.”

My response is quick and succinct. “Not yours.”

Expression darkening, he straightens, and every muscle in my body goes rigid in response. Even from a few feet away, he’s tall and far too imposing.

I toss the dish towel on the counter while my other hand tightens around my coffee mug. “Why are you here?”

He advances slowly, and the fingers on my free hand twitch, urging me to grab the knife.

Awareness enters his gaze, mingling with malicious glee. “Go ahead. Grab it.” He draws to a stop in front of me, and I know he gets off on making me peer up at him. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Unbridled hatred coats every inch of my words. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

In the blink of an eye, he has me by the throat, his tattooed fingers encircling it in a grip tight enough to make me gasp.

The mug falls from my hand, shattering on the tile floor and splattering coffee at our feet while my right hand claws at his at my throat.

Pinning me against the counter, his heavy, muscled form acts like a two-ton weight, his broad torso against mine as his pelvis and thighs trap me in place.

I scramble with my left hand to grab the knife off the counter. I no sooner raise the blade when his other hand darts out and restrains me. The punishing pressure he applies to my hand has me gritting my teeth so hard they begin to ache, but I refuse to relinquish the weapon.

“You don’t know who you’re goin’ up against.” He grinds out each syllable while his harsh features illuminate with the promise of painful retribution. “Gonna lose. Might as well give in now.”

When he applies more pressure to my left hand, searing hot pain renders me near breathless and my grip weakens.

My glare is cutting. “Never.”

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