Page 37 of Ruling Scar
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m getting shafted.”
A rather pleased smile crawls along his face. “I’ll tell you when you’re getting shafted.”
I stifle an angry noise in the back of my throat. “Why?” I shake my head, so he understands the question isn’t regarding his last sentence. “Why help and then make all these demands?”
“They’re not demands. I’ll be damned if Leopold is allowed near you.” He frowns as he speaks like I should understand that.
“Just a few months.”
He cocks his head like he doesn’t understand.
“Leopold will get bored.” Or marry someone else. Hopefully, not to anyone I know, but I’m sure there’s an alliance to be made with the Italians or the Irish.
He hums under his breath but chooses not to say anything.
“Let’s reevaluate in two months, shall we?” I suggest.
“Three.” He places the whiskey on the table. “And you’ll tell me exactly what the asshole did tonight that scared you so much.”
The apartment remains silent in the dead of night.
He scowls. “Did he touch you?”
I shake my head.
“Leonora.”
“H-he touched my arm,” I admit with shame. Because it was a little touch, a power move. Maybe I’m the one overreacting.
No, you’re not.
I decide to trust the voice in the back of my head for once.
That doesn’t mean I want him dead, though. “No funny business.”
Elijah makes no promises. “Stay the night.”
I laugh. “Absolutely not.”
“If my woman tells me of a threat, I don’t let her out of my sight.”
I lift myself off the chair. “Good thing your woman has an armed guard outside.”
I fought with Mom about going out without a guard and yet for some reason an SUV is downstairs. And even better, I’ve added to the count. I don’t want to think about how complicated I’ve made this all.
But I can’t stand disappointing my mom. And she’ll lose her shit if she knows I’m spending time with Elijah.
Elijah stands up, following me to the door.
“I’ll walk you down.” Albert stands beside his owner, patiently waiting for his leash.
“No.” Dad doesn’t have the guards scan our locations for information anymore, but Elijah’s recognizable.
He frowns at the refusal. “I’m not letting my woman?—”
“Okay, caveman.” I shrug on my coat. The hairpins in my chignon dig into my scalp. I’m ready to go home, but need toclear up one thing first. “This whole ‘my woman’ thing is not happening.”
“Leonora,” his dark voice warns.
