Page 166 of Bound By Revenge

I exhale heavily, trying—and failing—not to smile. “Let me see what you have,” I say at last, already knowing I’ve lost this battle.

It’s the damnedest thing—no matter how much trouble this madwoman stirs up, I can’t stay mad at her to save my life. Not when she’s standing here, all smiles and sass, lighting up our home with her chaos and charm.

This isn’t her first job since we moved in together. It won’t be her last. I know it, she knows it, and we both know I’ll let her get away with it. At this point, I’ve resigned myself to my fate—pleading with every deity listening to help me keep her safe and sound. And to grant me the patience to deal with her reckless streak without losing my sanity.

She knows she’s got me wrapped around her little finger. That’s why I had no choice but to spread the word: if even asinglehair on her perfect head is harmed, someone will beg me for the mercy of a quick death before I'm through with them. And she knows it, too. Oh, does she ever. In fact, she takes full advantage of my devotion, gleefully pushing my limits whenever the mood strikes her.

It’s maddening.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Of course, her earlier misgivings about the violence in my life seem like ancient history now. Once she realized she could weaponize my unhinged, overprotective tendencies against anyone who wronged her—or even mildly annoyed her—it was over. And, much to her delight, nothing makes me happier.

She saunters over to me, practically skipping across the marble floors before plopping her bouncy ass on my lap. Barely containing her grin, she thrusts the bag toward me like she’s presenting a trophy.

Curious, I peek inside. A kaleidoscope of gemstones stares back at me—diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, even a few blood-red rubies. My eyebrows shoot up.

Her amused expression says she’s been waiting for this reaction. With a nonchalant shrug, she says, “What can I say? He and I are in the same line of work. Guess there’s some truth to that saying about no honor among thieves.”

I whistle low, shaking my head as I return the loot. “Not bad,kiska. Not bad at all.

“Right?” she says, her grin widening. “What can I say? It’s not much, but it’s honest, dishonest work.”

“Speaking of honest work,” I say, my voice as innocent as sin itself, “did you give any thought to my suggestion about changing careers?”

She gasps, one hand flying to her chest in mock outrage, like she’s about to clutch invisible pearls. “Excuse me?!”

“I’m just saying,” I continue, ignoring her dramatics, “charity work could be a good use of your time. It’s not like youneedto take on any more jobs. I’ve got more money than even you could ever spend.”

“Is that a challenge?” she shoots back, her eyes narrowing. “Because it sounds like a challenge.”

I fight the smirk threatening to break free. “And who knows?” I press on, my tone all too casual. “Mentoring young girls with a knack for trouble? I feel like that could be your calling. Just saying—it seems fitting.”

She narrows her eyes further, jabbing a finger at me. “You’re teasing me,” she accuses, shaking her head, her lips twitching despite herself.

I laugh softly, holding up my hands in mock surrender. “Unless, of course, you agree with me.”

She scoffs, slapping my shoulder lightly. “Can you imagine?” she says, her voice dripping with faux horror. She nibbles her bottom lip like she’s genuinely considering it, then shakes her head, shuddering dramatically. “Me? Gainfully employed, doinggood, old-fashionedhonest work? No, sir. Absolutely not. I’ll just donate an ungodly amount ofyourmoney to those imaginary sweet girls you’re so worried about.”

I lean in close, my voice dropping. “Call me ‘sir’ one more time, and I won’t bring it up again.”

Her eyes sparkle mischievously, but she rolls them anyway, leaning in to press a soft kiss to my lips. Her lips are warm, soft, intoxicating, and all they do is wake the hunger I’ve been keeping on a tight leash all day. God, it’s been too long since we’ve fucked. At least six hours now…

But just as my arms tighten around her, drawing her closer, she pulls back, leaving me groaning in protest. Her grin is unapologetic, her voice far too sweet. “So,” she says, ignoring my obvious desperation, “how did your meeting go?”

Patrick McGuire and I have been meeting off and on for months. After the whole Salvatore mess, he finally realized thebratvaand I had nothing to do with his daughter’s disappearance. Now, we’re working together to find her. If nothing else, it’s a gesture of good faith.

And I owe it to Maxim. He’d want me to take care of Erin. I can’t ignore that—especially since I still haven’t figured out where his remains are.

Kat pushed for a memorial service. At first, I wasn’t on board. Burying an empty casket felt hollow. But, as always, she was right. It was time. Even if it was purely symbolic, it gave me the closure I needed to finally move on. To start fresh with her.

“It went… fine,” I say with a sigh. “Which means it was a waste of time, but at least McGuire and I didn’t pull our guns on each other. This time.”

“Attaboy. Baby steps,” she teases, patting my chest like I’ve won a gold star. Then, more softly, she adds, “You’ll find Erin. And Maxim. You’re doing everything you can, Nik. That counts for something.”

I let out a long breath. “Doesn’t feel like it most days.”

She slides her arms around my neck and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I know. But I also know you. You’ll figure this out—you always do. Before you know it, it’ll just be another thing to add to your never-ending list of accomplishments.”

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