Page 46 of Wicked S.O.B.

“She’ll have plainclothes officers with her at all times,” the detective says.

“I’ll make sure there’s additional protection too,” Fionnella adds.

The urge to tell them both to fuck off pounds through my veins. The urge to bundle up my woman in my arms, take the express elevator to the roof, and fly her far away from here is even stronger. But the implacable look in her eyes speaks for itself. What she’s suggesting will probably kill me. But what the fuck, aren’t I already dead?

I slide my arm over her shoulder and pull her close. She slides her knee over my legs and curls into me. The raging torrent inside me dials down a tiny notch.

My gaze moves from Fionnella to the detective. “If she’s doing this, I’m doing it with her. And however many security guys you intend to have on the case, you double it. Both of you. Those two things are fucking nonnegotiable. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” both women say immediately.

I should be placated. I’m even more scared than I was a second ago. “Elyse—”

The hand she lays on my chest stops me. “We’ll get through this, Quinn,” she promises.

I want to believe her. The wide, ice-cold chasm inside me won’t let me.

But I’m with her the next day, my arm thrown over her shoulders, scared out of my fucking wits, as we head across the street to Mickey’s for breakfast.

She orders a bagel with cream cheese and a white Americano. I order a black coffee. Neither of us touches our food when it arrives. Her hand finds mine on top of the table. I grip hers tight in return. But even though we connect, I feel lost.

We didn’t fuck last night. Not because I didn’t want to but because I was terrified being inside her would unravel me completely. And if ever she’s needed me to hold it together, it’s now.

Her fingers caress the back of mine. “Quinn, talk to me. Please,” she says softly.

I shake my head. “Let’s just concentrate on nailing this bastard.”

“And afterward? What happens after?”

My laugh comes out like a churning bucket of nails. “I have no fucking clue, Elyse.”

She flinches. But she doesn’t let me go. “Please tell me you get why I didn’t tell you.”

Since I spent the whole night thinking about exactly that, the answer is easy. “Yes, I get it. You didn’t think I was stable enough to handle any extra shit.”

Tears fill her eyes. “God, no, Quinn. It’s the opposite. You’re the strongest person I know. But I was being selfish. I didn’t want anything to stopusfrom happening, but what I failed to accept was that we need to face the bad together, the same way we celebrate the good. I was wrong to exclude you.”

The flames of hell keep licking at my insides, even as I wipe her tears away with my thumb. “I’m fucking tired of the bad, baby.”

She nods solemnly. “Me too.”

There doesn’t seem much to say after that. When the requisite time passes, I drop enough bills to cover our food, and we head back out. My skin crawls, and I want to rip apart every guy who so much as flicks a glance at Elyse. Her arm around my waist anchors me to the last thread of sanity. After five blocks, I glance down at her.

“Anything?”

She shakes her head, her eyes dark and haunted. I tug her into my arms because I can’t not. “Do you want to keep going?” I mutter, hoping she’ll say no.

“Another few blocks?”

I grit my teeth and nod, and we carry on walking. Ten blocks later, I call it. She doesn’t protest when I bundle her into the town car the moment Lionel pulls up.

For the next four days, we repeat the same pattern. On day three, Detective Schultz expresses doubt as to whether the plan is working and hypothesizes that I might be scaring the stalker away with my presence. Her expression when I’m done speaking tells me she won’t forget my response to her bullshit any time soon. Which is great because the memory of Elyse being ripped from my arms and thrown into the back of a van by Clayton Getty isn’t one I wish to relive in this lifetime, never mind adding to it with another incident.

Fionnella wisely removes the detective from my presence, and we return to the status quo.

We’re both climbing proverbial walls, and I feel Elyse’s anxiety every time I touch her. I want to rip and maim and shatter, but absurdly, it’s Elyse’s quiet strength that keeps me together. I sit beside her when a sketch artist arrives to take a description of her assailant, and I shamelessly snarl at Fionnella and Detective Schultz every time they come up empty.

The shit hits the fan on Monday morning.

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