Page 74 of Owning Emma

“Anything you would like to share?” Mike asked as he rolled up his sleeve before opening the till. We had been silently working next to each other for about ten minutes, and I had finally begun to relax.

Fuck, why would it be so hard to just tell him? To say I wanted his daughter more than anything I’d ever wanted in my entire life, and that whether he approved or not, it wouldn’t keep me from her. She was mine.

Instead, I concentrated hard on removing the spot on the counter. “Nope.”

I was a fucking coward. For the first time in my life I was afraid of something, and it didn’t even involve guns or knives. There were no punches or blood involved. It was the overweight baker standing in front of me like his eagle eyes didn’t miss a thing. Fucking hell. I was going to sink.

“No?” He tapped the glass case in front of him. “The funny thing about always keeping this place clean is that these cases are spotless.”

Umm? Okay? “Yeah, they are nice.”

He cleared his throat. “So damn spotless that I could see the reflection of anything in their sparking surface. Especially the goings on in the back room.”

I froze, rethinking everything that had happened since I arrived at the bakery, until my mind halted at the kiss. It was the closest to virginal we could have possibly shared, a tiny brush of her lips against mine before she spoke to me in hushed tones, and yet somehow, that would be our downfall.

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” I swore, which was ridiculous, and I was being a complete coward because it was exactly what it looked like, but still, I called out Emma’s name for backup. Not sure if she was ready for this all to be out in the open or if she could maybe help a poor guy out.

“What exactly was it then?” he asked, and I swear I could feel the sweat rolling down my back.

“It was . . .” I called her name again. Shit, it was already too late to back out and I wasn’t going under alone.

“It was?” He raised an eyebrow, his eyes as hard as stone as he waited.

“I fucking love her,” I blurted out then almost stumbled back at my confession. A confession I hadn’t even revealed to her, yet. “Emma!”

Where the fuck was she? The back room wasn’t that large that she couldn’t hear me call her name three fucking times. I wanted, no, I needed to check on her, but that would mean I had to pass her father to do so. I wasn’t afraid of him, not in a physical sense, but if I ever had a daughter and someone like me confessed their love for her, my actions would definitely be unpredictable.

Her father snapped a rubber band around a roll of bills. “You know I suspected as much. But I couldn’t pinpoint which of you assholes managed to snag my angel’s heart.”

I swallowed hard. Which? Well . . . this was probably where it got fucking complicated. “Why don’t you and Emma talk about it and um . . .” I fumbled with what words to say, “I think she needs to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Fucking hell, why is she taking so long?

“Us.” I pushed forward, turning my body to the side to pass Mike so I could find her. Something didn’t feel right about her silence, and I needed to check on her. I squeezed through the narrow space between Emma’s father and the wall before stepping through the doorway.

I didn’t see her anywhere; the room was eerily silent. I didn’t like this. The feeling in the pit of my stomach grew and for a second, I wondered if I was going to vomit. Any one of my men could face danger head on, and I was completely cool with it. The possibility of something being wrong with Emma? Well, that would end me.

I walked along the large workspace on each side, seeing no sign of her. I pushed open the back door and didn’t see her in the alley. My heart began to pick up. Bathroom? That was a possibility. I knocked on the door, hearing nothing inside before I turned the knob and flung it open.

Nothing.

I turned back toward the room. Calling her name one more time, not like it would do much good. Mike watched me, concern growing on his face as panic clawed at my insides. She had to be here, I was nearly positive of that.

A slight scratch from the pantry drew my attention, reminding me that I hadn’t checked there. I stepped toward the storage cabinet and reached for the knob, the metal biting against the damn sweat of my nervous palm. I pulled it open and froze.

The cold barrel of Krank’s gun met my forehead.

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