Page 103 of Dirty Damage

But instead of admitting that, I bark out orders. “Get surveillance on him. I want to know every move he makes, every contact, every fucking sneeze. Something here isn’t adding up.”

“You think?”

“I fuckingknow.”

The rest of the ride passes in silence. By the time we pull up to my building, the sun is setting and my mind is a war zone of possibilities.

None of them are good.

The apartment feels empty when I walk in. For years, I lived in this silence, but now, I’m used to music pumping through the speakers and the soft footfalls of Sutton’s bare feet in the hallway.

I grab the bottle of whiskey from the bar cart, pouring myself an all-too familiar glass, trying not to think about how quickly she’s gotten under my skin.

How hearing her name in Drew’s bloody mouth made me want to tear his throat out.

How the thought of her afraid in that limo makes my hands shake even now.

The door opens just as I’m contemplating a second glass. Sutton walks in looking like she’s seen a ghost. Her skin is pale, her eyes wide and haunted.

“Everything okay?” I ask, already moving toward her.

She tries to smile but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Fine. Just… went to the grocery store.”

I glance at her empty hands. “What did you get?”

She looks down at her palms as though she expects to find something there. “I, um… didn’t find what I wanted.”

I move towards her. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Of course.” Another fake smile. “I’ve just been a little distracted since yesterday.”

I expect to be met with a barrage of questions about who the masked motorcyclists were, but she doesn’t bring them up at all.

What’s going on inside her head?

I step closer, drawn to her like gravity. “Don’t worry. I handled it. No more masked riders.”

“Are you hungry?” she asks, obviously changing the subject.

I grab her arm, pulling her against me. “Starving.”

When I kiss her, she’s stiff at first, like she’s fighting something inside herself. But when I hold her jaw, opening her mouth to me, she melts with a sigh.

I lift her, carrying her toward the bedroom, trying to convince myself that this is enough.

That I don’t need to know what’s hiding behind her eyes.

29

SUTTON

AN HOUR EARLIER

I’m standing in the frozen section, trying to decide between the low sugar ice cream or a pint of Death by Chocolate.

Considering I almost experienced death by assassination less than twenty-four hours ago, I think I’m entitled to a full-fat, full-sugar treat.

I’m resigned to drowning my problems in Ben & Jerry’s when something worse than death whispers in my ear.

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