Page 18 of Peyton's Price

Liam’s self-control vanished in a blink. Growling aloud, he stalked up behind Dylan, grabbing the smaller man by the scruff of the neck, knocking over the armchair in the process.

“Wha—how did you get in here?” Dylan sputtered, reaching up to try to break his iron hold.

Tightening his grip, Liam shook the man. “Where is Peyton?”

“I don’t know! She’s probably still at work.”

Liam narrowed his eyes on Dylan’s face. The guy was sweating. Despite the amount of alcohol in him, he was stone-cold sober.

“No, she’s not there. They said she was at home sick. I’ve checked her room. Her bed is made. It hasn’t been slept in today. So, tell me again…where is she?”

“I don’t know! She must have gone out. Maybe she had another date. The house was empty when I got home after work.”

Liam shifted his arm, glancing at his Bvlgari watch. “It’s not even seven. I’m supposed to believe you drank all those beers in that amount of time?”

He threw Dylan on the couch, shifting the heavy piece of furniture back an inch or two. Liam put his hands on his hips and scowled down at him, counting the number of bottles again. “Did you even go to work today?”

“Of course I did.” He didn’t stutter this time, but Liam knew he was lying. It was in the evasiveness of his eyes, and the slight tremor in his hands.

Liam had brokered hundreds, maybe thousands, of deals. He’d trained himself to read his adversaries in the boardroom. It was a science to him—he studied them, broke down and dissected their every reaction to give him the advantage. Becoming adept at spotting liars was a natural consequence. He saw something else in Dylan’s expression, too—guilt.

The crawling feeling in the pit of his stomach redoubled until it felt as if he were going to burst.

Peyton wasn’t here, and she wasn’t out on some date. Dylan’s behavior combined with his damning possession of her phone screamed of something nefarious.

She was in trouble, and Dylan had something to do with it.

Liam bent until his face was inches from the younger man’s. “What did you do?”

BreakingDylan down was harder than Liam would have guessed.

His opponent was weak, but he was also recalcitrant and stubborn. Combined with Dylan’s intense dislike of him—a grudge he’d been holding on to for years no doubt—made the bastard clam up tighter than his own asshole. But Liam wouldn’t be deterred, not now that he knew Peyton was in danger.

The nightmare threats of the world rose up as Dylan covered his face with his hands. Whatever he was hiding, it was fucking big.

Liam yanked Dylan’s hand away from his face. “You tell me what the hell is going on, and you do it now, or I swear I willruinyou.”

Cowering, Dylan leaned as far away from him as he could, pressing against the couch cushions.

“I can’t tell you. They’ll kill me.”

Red filled Liam’s vision, and he stiffened until his muscles screamed with tension. Liam flexed his fists. “Who are you talking about?”

But Dylan just shook his head.Don’t kill him. Whatever you do, don’t kill him.If Liam gave in to the rage coursing through him, he might never see Peyton alive again.

He was going to make him talk if it was the last thing he did. Liam snaked out a hand. Dylan reared back, trying to curl up in a ball, so Liam ended up just grabbing a leg, but that was fine. He used his superior strength to yank the man off the couch, dragging him along the floor.

“What are you doing, you psycho?” Dylan flailed as Liam dragged across the carpet of the spacious living room.

I hope he gets rug burn, Liam thought as he headed for the stairs. “I came in through the back, so I noticed your lovely McMansion has a nice little balcony. Unless you tell me what you know, I’m going to hurl you off it. It’s only the second story, so you probably won’t die. However, if I aim right, I’m fairly sure I can fracture your skull.” Every other word was punctuated with a thump as Dylan’s head banged against each step.

“You can’t do this. I have neighbors.” Dylan twisted, trying to pull away. At the top of the stairs, he reached out to grab the banister, but Liam hauled on his leg hard enough to dislocate it at the joint. Dylan let go, then Liam hustled him through the bedroom door and across to the balcony doors.

“I’ll scream,” Dylan gasped as Liam pushed them open. “My neighbors will call the police.”

“I doubt they are all that fond of you, given how loud you play your television. In fact, I doubt they’ll hear this over that crap you’re playing downstairs.”

Liam reached down, yanking Dylan to his feet. “But if the police do come…well, I guess my lawyers will be earning their exorbitant retainers.”

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