Page 24 of Vengeful Union

“Are you cold?”

“It's not exactly like this place has a working furnace.”

I remove my jacket, draping it over her shoulders. “We need to talk about this.”

“I don’t understand what there is to talk about!” she nearly yells. “Your men trapped me here?—”

“Not my men.” Why can’t she understand?

My father isn’t just going to stand down on my word, or even Bree’s word. He’s determined to hurt them back for turning my sister against him.

“The fucking Murphys,” she mutters.

I sigh, glad I’m finally getting through to her. “Yes. My father clearly wants war.”

“And you?”

“I don’t even want to be here. I only came to help Bree. And apparently, she doesn’t even need my help, so I need to fix this mess and go home.”

She nods. “There’s got to be a way out of this. Something I can do.”

There’s a flush on her cheeks ever since I’ve kissed her, and I can’t stop looking at her pouty pink mouth.

What am I thinking? Why am I suddenly so attracted to her? I’d only kissed her to get her to listen to me.

I shake myself out of it. “Maybe we can work together.”

“Why would I want to work with you?” she asks, and to be honest, it’s a good point. “I don’t know you. All I know is that your men helped kidnap me.”

“They are notmymen. And I had nothing to do with that,” I promise. “I don’t even live in Chicago. I don’t have anything to do with my father’s business.”

She blinks. “You don’t?”

I shake my head. “No. I work as an accountant.”

Lara laughs wildly, looking at me in confusion. “An accountant?”

I smile wryly. “Yeah. For a non-profit a few hours away.”

She scoffs. “So, you’re telling me you just got pulled into all of this?”

I let out a relieved breath. “Exactly! I had no idea what was going on back at home. I rarely talk to Bree, and I haven’t spoken to my father since I left this place.”

Lara searches my face as if trying to decide if she can trust me or not.

If I were her, I wouldn’t trust me either. She’s been through a horrible ordeal.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” I say quietly, and her eyes well with tears, but she doesn’t let them fall.

“If you were sorry, you’d let me go.”

Her words are like a punch to the gut.

She’s right. I should let her go, but if I do, my dad is just going to find another way to retaliate and maybe next time, people will get gravelly hurt. Or worse.

“Your father,” I start, and her eyes snap up to mine.

“What about my father?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

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