Page 59 of Bought
Stamped with a familiar crest: the double B of the Bachman Brotherhood, gilded in gold.
My blood turns to ice. My fingers twitch. My protection, and everyone in my family’s safety hinges on finding one thing.
Could it be in this envelope? If so, all I have to do is reach out and grab it. Leave and I’m out.
I feel sick.
I can’t breathe.
Handing this over means Caleb can’t touch us. We can move into our new place, blissfully unworried about our pasts. I can move on from the tangled web Lucian and I have created, and have the everyday, drama-free, danger-free life I promised Cass.
It also means…
Betraying him.
And I can’t.
Not after last night and the way he made me feel: worthy.
Not after the story he told me about the way he earned those scars.
He stirs in the other room, calling my name. “Erin?” I shut the drawer softly, swallowing the lump in my throat.
Lucian takes me to brunch. Like we’re normal. Like we’re not dancing on the edge of something dangerous and irreversible.
The restaurant is perched high on a rooftop, all white tablecloths and glasses that sparkle in the sun. The food is beautiful. Ridiculously expensive. The kind of meal you photograph before touching.
But he’s the one I want to photograph, to take one perfect picture to have for all time.
He’s wearing a tailored shirt, no tie, and the top button is undone. His hand rests casually over mine on the table. Every time he leans closer, the scent of him pulls me deeper under.
“You’re quiet,” he murmurs. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I try to smile. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“You. Last night. Everything.”
He squeezes my hand. “If you’re having regrets?—”
“I’m not.” I cut him off.
“Good. Because I meant what I said.” He nods, like he’s trying not to look too relieved. “I’m not walking away.”
After brunch, he takes me shopping again. His driver drops us off at Posh. I almost trip just walking inside for the second time.
“Lucian,” I protest, but he’s already speaking to a sales associate.
“Anything she wants. Don’t let her say no.”
I give him a look.
He gives me a smile that melts every ounce of resolve I have left.
“Humor me,” he says. “Watching you light up is the high I didn’t know I was missing.”
I want to stitch that into a wall hanging to go beside my photograph of him.
