Page 344 of Wild Mustang Security Firm

“You’re just as hurt as I am,” she snapped back. “You’re also handcuffed to your chair. Clearly, I don’t need your help, either!”

He didn’t move, apart from the slow hardening of his expression.

“Right.”

That single word quivered in her stomach, killing her anger and leaving her awash in nothing but embarrassment. She regretted her outburst, but apologies at this point were every bit as worthless as she was.

“Thank you for letting me use your phone,” she told the Mustang man, dropping her gaze to the floor, so she wouldn’t have to look at either one of them. “I’ll be right back.”

The bathroom was less than ten feet away from her seat, but her legs were so shaky, it took forever to shuffle her way to it without losing her balance. The Wild Mustang men moved their feet for her—hell, even a prisoner shifted away to lessen herchances of tripping. By the time she got to the bathroom, all she felt was unbearable mortification eating at her and the sting of the tears she refused to cry where anyone could see her.

Slipping into the tiny closet of a bathroom, she took a moment to compose herself. She washed her face until the threat of tears had receded, and she thought she could speak without sounding watery and weak. She dialed.

There was no way she could call the man she needed directly, but the operator put her through to his attaché’s secretary, who put her through to his voicemail since he was on another call.

“You may not remember me,” she began by way of a greeting, “but you brought me the loveliest present for my twenty-first birthday last year when your boss and my brother were trying to hash out their… business arrangement, regarding the summer games and certain funds which were funneled away from said games and into alternate business accounts. Christian Reid will have a full pardon in the next twenty-four hours, or my next phone call won’t be anywhere near this private. Tell your boss good luck with his upcoming election.”

She hung up, dropping the phone next to the sink she leaned on, trying to still the sudden racing of her heart and the dizziness in her head. She felt dirty. She’d thought she would feel better, but maybe that would come when—if—the attaché reviewed her message and passed it along.

What if he didn’t? Hers was every bit an empty threat, completely without any evidence to back it up. Who was she to be giving anyone ultimatums, except Aliya Abdal—she stared at herself in the mirror—sister to the world’s worst and now deceased villain?

Washing her face again, she unlocked the pocket door and slid it open, freezing in her tracks when she saw Christian, his hands braced to either side of the opening as he blocked herfrom leaving with his mostly naked body. No one could have ever worn an old bedsheet and fresh bandages better.

“What happened to your handcuffs?” she asked, startled.

Tsking, Christian pushed her half a step backward, so he could wedge himself into the bathroom with her.

“I said I had something to take care of, and Noah agreed.”

Sliding the pocket door shut, he locked it again, sealing them in together. The bathroom wasn’t anywhere near big enough for two people. He wedged against the sink, digging the edge of the counter into the small of her back, then cupped her ass in his hands, lifting her off the floor and dropping her to sit almost in the sink.

She gasped and winced, grabbing his shoulders for balance before she fell the short distance back into the mirror.

Bracing his hands flat on the counter on either side of her hips, he looked her squarely in the eyes.

“Go on,” he dared her.

She hugged the phone and the edges of her sheet tight around her.

“G-Go on, what?”

“You wanted my attention.”

Her chest rose and fell faster than normal, her heart racing. Was he angry with her? He didn’t look angry. His mouth was firm, but there was a quirk to one corner far closer to a smile than a frown, and she thought there might be hints of amusement locked somewhere deep in the blue of his eyes.

“N-No.” She shook her head. “I didn’t?—”

“Bite my head off again,” he rephrased, the amusement drawing a little closer to the surface but that challenge still strong in his voice.

“Oh.”

His handsome mouth rounded in a silent echo of her reluctant comprehension.

“What’s going on with you, Princess?”

She hated this bathroom. Small as it was, there was no place for her to look away, and when she tried, he knuckled a finger under her chin and brought her back to his knowing eyes.

“Are you trying to be a double agent now?”

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