Page 33 of Broken Saint

13

Rock

Idebated how I was going to handle the party aftermath and finally landed on a plan that didn't include screwing Nova to the wall of her suite or wrapping my hands around Ronin Kavanaugh's throat and watching him take his last breath on this earth.

Although that was not completely off the table.

Yeah. I was not in a great frame of mind since the party, and reviewing FBI case files on Kavanaugh had not helped. Together with his father, he was suspected in dozens of murders and missing persons cases. There was a lot of information available on him due to a well-developed network of confidential informants, but there was never enough evidence to make anything stick.

Mostly because the Kavanaugh MO was to leave no bodies to be found. Fucker had better watch his back in Vegas. If he was here for a job, then I would be watching. My plate was full with my current case, but when a situation like this falls in your lap, you don't ignore it.

Using the elevator key I'd had made, I pressed the button that would take me to Nova's floor. The Sinclair actually did have good security, but I didn't trust Nova's safety to anyone else. So, I'd taken the liberty of helping myself to an elevator key and reprogrammed her suite so that only she and I had access. If anyone else tried to enter without her permission, my system would immediately know.

One of the many gifts bestowed on me as a teenager by members of my father's motorcycle club. The club back then had done a lot of bad shit, but that didn't mean they were stupid. JD had invested heavily in topnotch technology, and as his son, I had learned it all. I'm sure he'd meant for me to one day take over the club, but that was never going to happen. I didn't care how legit they tried to go.

At Nova's door, I was tempted to let myself in as I usually did, but I'd pushed my luck hard with her at her birthday party, and I needed to give her a little space. I scrubbed at my face and took a deep breath as I depressed the doorbell. I hadn't even known it was her birthday, for Christ's sake, until Houston mentioned the party, and I had access to that kind of data.

It wasn't like me to lose sight of details like that on a case. Yet another sign I'd gotten way too close. Maybe this fiancé bullshit was for the best. It could give me the opportunity to pull back and regroup.

Unfortunately, that idea didn't sit well. At all.

The door opened, and catching sight of her for the first time was like every other time I saw her for the first time. It hit me square in my core like an unexpected gut punch. She was so fucking beautiful. I mean, that was a given, but it was so much more than that. This woman was the whole package. Gorgeous, smart, creative, and just the right amount of submissive.

Mine.

That surge of possessiveness I'd felt earlier at the party tightened like a restrictive band around my chest. It took an enormous amount of self-control not to drag her back inside and show her exactly how I felt right now.

"I can't believe you rang the bell. That's new."

"Time to shake things up. I even brought food." I held up the bags of take-out food I'd picked up on the way over. "I hope you like Thai."

"Oh my God. Were you reading my mind? I love it. And I'm starving."

I had a feeling she needed to eat. From what I'd observed she ate like a bird, and half the time didn't seem to remember to eat at all. I carried the food into her suite and headed to the dining area.

She disappeared into the kitchen as I proceeded to unload the many containers of food. Since I wasn't sure what she favored, I'd practically gotten a little of everything.

"Good night. That's a lot of food. Should I be expecting more people to show?"

We both laughed, and again, it took an enormous amount of control not to pull her into my arms and kiss her senseless. However, we needed to talk more than fuck. I wanted answers.

"I wasn't sure what you would want to eat, so I brought a variety for you to choose from."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm being buttered up before the big interrogation?" She asked.

I shrugged. "I do have a lot of questions. And since we both left the party before the food was served, we both needed to eat. Two birds, one stone, I guess."

She looked skeptical, but I couldn't blame her. Up to now, most of our time together was either in a public bar or between the sheets. At the time, talking had seemed overrated. Now it was imperative.

Neither of us said anything else as we dished up our food and took two seats across from each other. Surprisingly, that silence didn't feel awkward. However, the mood was more somber than usual.

"I feel like I'm waiting for an ax to fall," she said, glancing up at me through her lashes before returning her attention back on her food.

"That's the guilt talking. You need a good confession. And then, probably, a good spanking."

Her eyebrows rose, and I smirked in response. I knew that would snag her attention. My woman could be a bit of a control freak by day and then at night, when I convinced her to let go and worked my way past her walls, she needed something entirely different.

"I don't feel guilty," she declared. "You and I had an agreement. We weren't dating, and we didn't owe each other anything."

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