Page 29 of Sinful Desires
The air in my lungs suddenly felt trapped.
“It becomesmine.”
He thumbed across the tablet, pulling up another set of security logs like he was checking the weather. “If they get in, it won’t be to steal your TV. It’ll be to grab you. Cut you open. Piece by piece.”
The peanut butter stuck to the roof of my mouth, and for once, I was grateful. It meant I couldn’t scream.
He finally looked up, his gaze landing on me. “No one would hear you scream, Miss Harper.”
I stopped chewing. The sandwich tasted like ash in my mouth.
How the hell had he read my mind again? Had I somehow signed up for Psychic Asshole Bodyguard 101 without knowing?
“So, unless you want to end up in trash bags in a landfill, you’ll start answering my questions.Now.”
I gulped, the sandwich suddenly too heavy in my hand. Slowly, I set it down, my fingers brushing crumbs across the counter.
“Angelo,” I muttered, my throat tight. “Angelo Lazzio. My cousin.”
He tapped something on the iPad, the screen casting a ghostly green light along the hard line of his jaw. “Then I’ll call him right away.”
He turned on his heel to leave, his back to me as he made his way toward the door.
The man had a gift. Not the charming kind. Theyou might wake up duct taped in a basementkind.
I bet he did it on purpose, just to keep me on a leash. Make sure I didn’t get any cute ideas, like freedom or breathing without his permission.
“You’re so boring. I bet you’ve never done anything fun in your life.”
He froze for a second, his back still turned, before slowly looking over his shoulder.
“Fun? You mean like raiding thrift stores while your luxury sponsors send you free shit? Must be nice to play at rebellion when you’ve never had to actually live it.”
Bastard.
In my defense, that had been years ago when I was drunk, high, and about as dumb as a brick. I’d been dating—or, more accurately, flogging—some artist who’d dared me to do it. So, naturally, I had accepted the challenge.
I’d gotten arrested, made headlines, and had to do community service in thescenicCentral Park. Now, looking at the picture of myself in an orange jumpsuit and Prada sunglasses, my red hair in a ponytail, and a cigarette dangling from my lips, I couldn’t help but think it was iconic.
My father had nearly broken my jaw that night.
I crossed my arms, leaning back against the counter, and threw him a smirk.
“So, you’ve been spying on me? What’s next, putting up posters of my face around your room? Another stalker to add to my collection?”
“I do my job. Understanding my client is part of the protection. Better to know who I’m dealing with.”
I chuckled darkly and stepped closer to him, narrowing my eyes. “Oh, do enlighten me, soldier. What exactly have you figured out about me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked coolly. “You’re a spoiled, selfish little girl playing at misery. Loud enough to be noticed, empty enough that nothing ever sticks.”
I felt the air leave my lungs. I opened my mouth, but for once, no smart comeback came.
It wasn’t just an insult. It was a truth, wrapped in venom.
He’d seen me for exactly what I was. And somehow, it hurt more than I’d expected.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at me like he was deciding whether to rip into me or just leave me with my pathetic sandwich.
