Page 121 of Manacled Hearts

“There’s no need. I’ll send someone now, and by the time we’re ready, they’ll bring them to us,” he explains.

“But I could go buy the presents myself.”

“Out of discussion.” He protests before I even finish the sentence. “You know very well you’re a target now. Until Bartiste and his organization are crushed, we cannot risk you being out of our sight. I know it sucks, but you have to bear it for a little longer.”

I really do want to argue, but this is a stupid hill to die on and he has a point—there’s a target on me. Even so, I don’t trust Frankie not to follow after and claim me to himself like apparently, he wishes to do. A shudder rips through me and Finn’s expression darkens in response.

“They won’t get to you, Evelyn. They will all be dead soon enough, and I’ll make sure it’s not going to be pretty.” He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger and brings me in for a peck that’s much sweeter than it should be from a man of his reputation.

He’s a playboy, what is he doing making these kinds of promises to a formerly homeless woman?

“You’re so unbothered by talks of gruesome murder.” Of course I had nothing smarter to say, Jesus Christ.

Though, I don’t seem to be that bothered about it either. I shouldn’t be that surprised that my moral compass is so off center. Not after what I’ve done.

His fingers on my chin tighten, pulling me away from that dark memory.

“You want me to pretend you’re some naive bimbo who doesn’t understand the world she found herself in? You know what we are, Evelyn, what we do, but I’ll sugarcoat it for you in the future if it will make you feel better. However, it doesn’t change the fact that for what they’ve done to you, Bartiste and Frankie will pay in pounds of flesh, and I’ll make sure their deaths are slow, excruciating.”

CHAPTER 29

EVELYN

Am I really that different from the bimbos he’s usually with? After all, I lusted for him, wore him down until he slept with me. Surely I don’t stand out in that sea of faceless, nameless women.

Yet here I am, listening to his violent words and promises of death like the man is making some sweet, grand gesture I should be swooning over. Who am I kidding? I am swooning over them.

“They’ve done so much more to so many others. Why take revenge for me?” I blurt out without thinking as he releases my chin.

He frowns, cocking his head. “Because it’s you here, standing in my kitchen after sleeping in my bed. It’s your taste on my tongue, it’s the memory of my cock in your pretty pussy.”

“There were countless others before me. Here. In this kitchen.”

His hand is on my throat in a flash, the tips of his fingers reaching the back of my neck, he uses his thumb to tilt my head up so I can meet his eyes. The touch is gentle, but so possessive.

“The women who have crossed this threshold, in the last few years, haven’t stayed past a few hours. Most have never seen this kitchen. None have slept here. You, Evie darling, are the one and only.”

He lets those words linger in the air, their soundless echo licking my skin and penetrating my soul with devastating effect.

The one and only…

I want to ask him why. Demand an explanation. Beg him to make sense of this, because… why? Why, damn it? Tension builds between my brows, threatening to turn into a headache. Maybe that pain can make sense of this man, because he’s certainly not explaining himself. I don’t care why other women haven’t been here, I want to know why I am.

But, how can I ask him such a question when the answer might influence my decision about Queenscove and my future? I cannot base my decision on this man. Asking him about it could break us both.

That question, though, lingers on the tip of my tongue and makes my lips tremble. Finnigan notices, too. He waits. And waits, watching my parted lips with a soft frown between his dark blonde brows. But those bright blue eyes of his carry so much danger, because I swear there’s a tinge of hope sparkling in their depths.

“Ask me.”

I gasp at his words, but don’t speak.

I can’t.

“Ask me, Evelyn,” he demands, tone darker.

I press my lips together instead, attempting to shake my head, but his grip allows only slight movement.

Finnigan sighs and drops his hand. “Remember when you accused me of being a coward?”

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