Page 43 of Bound By Revenge

"Okay…" I say, wondering where he's going with this—and where I want him to go with this.

“You work for me now, like it or not. And I take care of my people. So, while you’re here, I want you to feel at home. You’re not my prisoner.”

I scoff. Is he joking? This gilded cage is still a cage. He literally had to kidnap me to get me into his home. I'm stuck here, forbidden from leaving or interacting with other men.

My reaction doesn't seem to faze him. “I know we may not see eye to eye, but I hope we can turn this situation around. I know you hate my rules?—”

“To put it mildly,” I interrupt.

“—but you’ll find I compensate fairly for my demands. Besides, you’re welcome to invite A.J. or any friends over. Andyou’re free to come and go—as long as you check in with me first, of course.”

“Of course,” I repeat, dripping with sarcasm.

He exhales heavily. "Go ahead, call me an asshole, but we’re dealing with a dangerous man. Nobody else is getting hurt on my watch. If that means I'm a controlling jerk, then so be it.”

His worry for me makes me feel uneasy. I'm not used to being taken care of. I'm the one who looks after everyone else. That’s why I'm in this mess.

“Right, so you’ve told me,” I say. “But I’m not convinced you aren’t just getting off on making me do whatever you please.”

Humor glints in his eyes. “Maybe just a bit.”

“That’s what I thought,” I say, smiling despite myself.

He matches my smile, then turns back to the screen. I do the same—or pretend to. Inside, my mind races, trying to process the whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

On one hand, Nik’s still my enemy. The barrier between me and the future I’ve been working for. And he’s undeniably controlling. But I’m surprised—and maybe even floored—by his concern for my well-being, his attempt to give me some semblance of freedom.

Of course, his rules about how I can use my small amount of freedom are absurd. He may be bossy, but at least it’s for a good reason. He thinks he's keeping me safe.

And his generosity... He won’t miss the money or the Bentley, but he has so much dirt on me that he didn’t need to pay me for my help. Thestronzonever did.

“That’s Maxim,” Nik says as a dark-haired man enters the frame—his best friend who was killed the night we met. His thick, brown hair falls in waves over his forehead, and his tall, lean build and chiseled jawline are impossible to miss. Finally, I can put a face to the name, and it's a very handsome one. Even inthe blurry surveillance video, his sharp cheekbones and electric blue eyes stand out. I glance at Nik, noticing his clenched jaw.

“How long were you two friends?” I ask, needing to break the silence.

“Practically my whole life,” he sighs, skipping ahead on the footage. “Here it is.”

The screen freezes on a lean, silver-haired man in his early sixties, dressed sharply in a dark suit.

“Who’s that?”

“That’s Patrick McGuire. The man we’re up against.”

I turn to Nik, stunned. “Patrick McGuire is the head of the Irish mob.” For some reason, I need to tell Nik that. You know, the guy who's in charge of the Russian mob. Of course there's a third mafia boss in my life. Naturally.

“I’m aware.”

“You never said I’d be helping you take down the Irish mob’s leader.”

“I didn't think it made a difference. You weren’t in a position to refuse me, no matter who the enemy was. You knew what I do before our deal, so it shouldn't come as a shock that our enemy is the head of a rival family.”

He presses play, but I turn to face him, staring him down as the footage plays. He’s not the least bit fazed.

No point in arguing about him keeping McGuire’s identity a secret. He won't budge. That's the extra push I need to get this done faster.

With a sigh, I lean back and rest my feet on the coffee table. As I adjust my head, I bump the bruise on my temple, inhaling sharply at the sting.

Nik’s sharp eyes catch it. “What’s wrong?” He pauses the video again, turning to face me.

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