Page 15 of Becoming His Pet

“Fifteen minutes.” He tapped the digital clock on the dash.

“You said that I couldn’t answer you for that long, not that I couldn’t talk.”

“You’re right.” He nodded. “I wasn’t clear. I’ll explain now. You may not speak for fifteen minutes. Every time you do, another minute will be added. If you keep doing it, I have a brand-new gag in that bag in the back seat. Never been used, just bought it this morning.”

He was being an ass, but damn, that look on her face made his cock hard. Feisty women didn’t usually do it for him. He preferred the ones that went into the dark with him willingly and yearned for him to be devious with them. But this girl—fuck, she brought out the animal in him.

“You’re a real prick.” She kicked the dash.

“That’s another minute. And if you kick my car again, I’ll pull over and tan your ass.” He shouldn’t be threatening her with a spanking. He really did want to help her, but he wouldn’t let her keep acting like a spoiled brat.

She slipped her feet from the dash and turned her attention back to traffic outside her window. When he peeked over at her, he noticed a pretty blush covered her cheeks.

Minutes ticked by and he made it out of the city and headed to the border.

“We’re going to a cabin I have. It’s secluded and safe. Once we’re there I’ll figure out what we should do next. After seeing those two cops at the bar, I’m thinking they might not be the safest way to go right now.” Greg turned the radio down. “Okay, now. Who are you going to call if I give you the phone?”

“My editor,” she said, folding her hands between her legs. “You don’t have to take me to any safe house, he’ll know where I can go.”

“Wait. You’re a writer? Like a journalist?” He turned the radio completely off.

“I answered your question, now give me the phone.” She put her hand out for it.

“I’m not done figuring this out. Is that why you were working at the flower shop?” She couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. Why would she put herself in danger for a fucking story?

“I’m not a reporter. Not yet anyway. I’m working on a story and once I have one, I can get steady work,” she explained like everything she just said made any sense. The little drop in her tone at the end gave her away. If she was going to keep lying to him, she could at least get better at it.

“How old are you?” he asked, switching lanes to get around a semi-truck.

“Twenty-five,” she answered with an edge. He looked her over again and shook his head. “I can show you my driver’s license—well, I could if I had my purse.”

“I wasn’t implying you were lying.” He believed her, at least about her age. It was the rest of everything that still confused him. Why would she be undercover at the flower shop if she didn’t have a concrete position at a paper or network?

“You think going after a story is stupid, foolhardy—more men’s work than women’s?” she asked. He didn’t appreciate being lumped in with whatever assholes she’d obviously met prior to him, but they didn’t have time to debate sexism.

“Right now, I have more questions than answers. If you call youreditor, what will he do?”

“He’ll get me somewhere safe, so I can get the piece written. Once it’s turned in, and it hits the papers, then I’ll be safe. They won’t go after the journalist. And I’ll make the accounting anonymous. So, you see, no cops. I can’t give a statement, because I’m just the journalist. Not the witness.”

“You think your byline will keep you safe?” The days of crews like the Santinelli brothers keeping innocent bystanders out of their crosshairs were gone. They didn’t care who they hurt, just so long as it protected the family. If they wanted a witness silenced, they’d do it. Byline or not.

He shook his head. Playing into her lie was getting him all confused. He needed to nip her dishonesty in the bud and soon.

“I think you’re letting your military experience mess with your civilian life. As long as no one is arrested for Antonio’s murder, the whole thing never happened.” Her voice hitched on Antonio’s name.

“How long did you work there?”

“This was my second month,” she answered. After a gentle huff of air, she put her hand back out. “So. Can I call now?”

He shook his head. “You don’t need youreditorto get you somewhere safe. I’ve already got that covered.”

“You said—”

“Once we’re at my cabin, I can make a few calls. See what’s going on at the flower shop. If they allowed the body to be found or not.”

“If the body’s not found, no crime, right?”

“Once we know more about that then we can see about you calling youreditor,” he said.

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