Page 66 of Savage Revenge

“It was just a date,” I say quietly.

He rubs his jaw like I hit him, though he doesn’t stop staring at me. “Just a date,” he says slowly. Dangerously. “Were you going to fuck him, kitten?”

“Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on?” Xander barks as he stands in the threshold, scowling.

“Nothing we want to be part of,” Beckett answers as he moves toward Xander.

“Don’t go. We need to pay Carver a visit. Tell Kian to meet us,” Cash instructs, his scowl trained on me. “My kitten and I can finish this conversation later.”

He moves to step past me but pauses, his jaw tight. “Just remember, there isn’t a place in this house I can’t see you, so don’t even think about arranging any fucking dates with my men while I’m out. The only person you’re going out with or letting into that pink little cunt,” he presses a hard kiss to my temple, his voice dripping with a threat, “is me.”

Then he’s gone, and I’m left in a kitchen, surrounded by an array of baked goods while my mind is reeling about what an asshole Cash Savage is. Why is he going to see Elliott? Shoot. Why did I react when Cash brought up his name? But in some deep down, super fucked-up way, it feels like betrayal to Cash that I was going to go out with Eliott. It makes no sense whatsoever, especially since I didn’t know Cash at the time.

Finally, after I’ve downed an entire deliciously fluffy cupcake, I grab one of the flaky, buttery croissants and head upstairs to get ready for yet another pool day.

Once again, as soon as I walk into my room, Cash surprises the hell out of me. Because on my bed is a bottle of ibuprofen, some chocolates, and a little stuffed kitten that warms up in the microwave and works as a heating pad.

And suddenly those red flags seem a little more beige.

Hugging the warming kitten to my chest, I plop down on the edge of the bed and let my head fall back, my eyes gazing at the ceiling as his parting words float through my mind again.

Just remember, there isn’t a place in this house I can’t see you, so don’t even think about arranging any fucking dates with my men while I’m out. The only person you’re going out with or letting into that pink little cunt is me.

He thinks he’s so in control. And for the most part, he is. Maybe a little too much. But he’s not God; he can’t see me everywhere.

My gaze skirts around, trying to figure out if that is, in fact, true. We are in Las Vegas, one of the most surveilled cities in the country, where the only place you can ever truly get privacy is within the walls of your own home and public bathrooms.

But I’m not in my own home.

Fuck. No.

No. No. No.

I look at the small white box mounted high on the wall. I assumed it was a motion detector for the security system. It has to be. My apartment has something similar in all the rooms. But what if…

I’m on my feet before I know it, grabbing onto the heavy armchair to drag it with me so I can reach the device. As soon as I step onto the cushy seat, I groan and rise onto my tiptoes as high as I can.

Shit. I’m not tall enough.

The bathroom. Is there one in there too? I haven’t noticed.

He wouldn’t, though.

I’m being paranoid.

Cash was just trying to fuck with me when he left. He was pissed for whatever jealous reason that I was going on a date with Elliott and he wanted to mess with my head. It seems to be the game we play.

Even so, I dart into the bathroom and go to the toilet, stepping onto the closed lid. I reach up, my fingertips barely touching the plastic device. As soon as I get a grasp of it and yank, the entire thing pops off the wall, pulling a tiny wire out with it.

As my heart races and my stomach twists, I pinch the wire and pull. Then, when I’m staring back into the tiny lens of a camera, the room starts to spin, and I stumble down from the toilet.

He put cameras in my bathroom.

Where I shower.

And pee.

And… oh God.

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