Page 11 of Redemption's Inferno

“Have sex with you?” He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not my type.”

She met his gaze and squinted slightly. “Liar.”

He grinned at the first sign of the old Emilie, who’d probably sock him in the mouth for what he’d said. Which was why he’d said it. He’d been worried for a while, but now that the fire was back in her eyes, he felt better. “Not tonight, anyway.” He smoothed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “You can barely keep your eyes open.”

“I still don’t know why you’ve come.”

“Because Viggo and Becca were worried. Because we were afraid you would hurt yourself. And it’s a good thing I did too—he could have killed you!”

“He’s experienced,” she pointed out.

“But he wasn’t stopping!” he growled, reaching for his jeans. His T-shirt was soaked and he left it on the floor, grateful it was summer and he could go without.

“Yet you stopped him.” Emilie finally sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and staring at him like a lost little girl.

Chains sighed. “All right, are these all your things? The stuff in the shower?”

She nodded. “I’ll get it.”

“Sit.” He gave her a stare that told her he meant business and she paused. “I’ll gather it up. Put on some shoes, yeah?”

“Okay.” She went to her suitcase and pulled out a pair of sandals, sliding them on her feet. The effort seemed to cost her more energy than she had and she sank onto the edge of the bed, wondering what to do next. Things had taken a strange turn. She’d never expected Chains to show up, and pulling her out of the situation she’d been in was both a relief and an embarrassment. She also hadn’t imagined Cuddy going so far as to attempt a form of breath play without discussing it first. Everyone had limits, and Emilie had very few, but not only was it scary, it was dangerous. She hadn’t known he was going to go that far and by the time she’d realized it, it seemed easier to just close her eyes and hope it was over quickly.

“Ready to go?” Chains put the rest of her things into the suitcase and closed it. “Where’s your purse?”

“Top drawer.” She pointed at the bureau. “You need a shirt.”

“I’ll get one once we’re out of here.”

“I’ve got one I picked up as a gift for Viggo in my bag—it’s still in the wrapping. I can get him another before I leave.”

“Thanks.” Chains dug around and pulled out a Sex Pistols T-shirt, shaking his head before tugging it on. He handed her purse to her and put the suitcase on its side, rolling it towards the door. “Ready?”

“Where are we going?”

“To Warren’s.”

She sighed.

* * *

Warren was having a late dinner when they arrived and he ushered them into the den where his meal was laid out on a small tray table next to his favorite chair. He took his place in the old leather armchair and looked over at them warily, a tumbler with ice and a dark amber liquid in his hand.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this conversation?” he asked dryly.

“Do you know what your friend Cuddy tried to do?” Chains snarled.

“It’s all right,” Emilie said gently. “I knew what I was getting myself into.”

“He could have killed you.” Chains’ steely gray eyes narrowed into slits.

“All’s well that ends well,” was all she would say.

Chains grunted, folding his arms across his massive chest, and told the older man everything. “That wasn’t safe—what were you thinking, sending her to him?”

“He’s changed,” Warren murmured. “I’ll have a chat with him, leave it to me.”

Chains looked unhappy but didn’t say anything else.

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