Page 33 of They All Own Me

"Nah." He runs a hand over the design. "Got it after she died. It's protection runes. Old Irish stuff."

"Does it work?" There's no mockery in her voice, just genuine curiosity.

"I'm still breathing, aren't I?" He cracks a rare smile. "Came to the States when I was eighteen. Fell in with some rough crowds, did some enforcement work. Met Dom in a bar fight - he was impressed I took down three guys without breaking a sweat."

"And now you break kneecaps professionally?"

"When necessary." Isaac's green eyes harden. "But I prefer to think of it as problem-solving through applied force."

"That's just a fancy way of saying you beat the shit out of people," she teases.

"Says the woman who married a man who destroys lives with a pen stroke." His tone is light but pointed.

"Touché." She tips an imaginary hat at him.

I study Tatum as she curls deeper into our couch, completely at ease despite her situation. Most people we bring here are terrified - and for good reason. But she's acting like this is some casual hangout session.

"So Dom, your turn for story time," she says, pointing at him with a french fry. "Let me guess - ex-military?"

Dom exchanges a look with me, clearly as thrown off by her friendly interrogation as I am. "Something like that. Marines."

"Did his crew cut give it away?" I ask, trying to maintain some professional distance despite finding myself oddly charmed by her genuine interest.

"That and the way he moves." She shrugs. "My brother was military too. You all have that same purposeful walk."

"You're pretty observant for a trophy wife," Isaac notes, his tone carrying a hint of suspicion.

"When you spend years playing the perfect political accessory, you learn to read people." She stretches her legs out, bare feet propped on our coffee table like she owns the place. "It's basically a survival skill."

"Speaking of survival," Dom cuts in, "you do realize you're sitting here trading life stories with three men who could kill you without breaking a sweat?"

"Yep." She pops the 'p' sound, completely unfazed. "But you won't."

"And why's that?" I lean forward, genuinely curious about her logic.

"Because I'm more valuable alive. Plus," she grins, "I make good conversation. Must be a nice change from your usual hostages."

I can't help but laugh at her audacity. "You're either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid."

"Maybe both." She winks at me. "But hey, at least I'm entertaining."

Dom shakes his head, but I catch the hint of a smile. "You're something else, that's for sure."

"I'll take that as a compliment." She yawns, stretching like a cat. "Now, who's going to show me where I'm sleeping? Since we're doing this whole kidnapping thing properly and all.

Chapter 19

Isaac

The bitter coffeescalds my tongue, but I welcome the burn. It's better than dwelling on the fact that it's been over twenty-four hours since we "kidnapped" Senator Cope's wife, and the bastard hasn't even mentioned she's gone. My phone sits silent on the kitchen counter, mocking me.

"You'd think a man would check on his wife, right?" Tatum's voice startles me. She's standing in the doorway, wearing another one of my oversized shirts that somehow make her look even more appealing.

"Most would." I take another sip. "Dom and Connor are setting things in motion with the press. Should hit the morning news cycle."

She slides onto the barstool across from me. "Want to place bets on how long it takes him to fake cry?"

"That's dark." But I can't help the smile tugging at my lips.

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