Page 23 of A Lethal Game of Trust
“It’s not like you actually work at your security company anymore,” she added. “Chris does it all.”
Chris, my right-hand man, had practically taken over my private security company in the last year, as I’d become more involved in my father’s businesses. He’d really started to age lately.
I didn’t have the luxury of getting away from everything like Issy and Leonie.
Issy implored me, “Go on, she’s a little scared of him.”
Putting the glass down on the coffee table, I glared at her. She sat there, slightly hungover, calling herself Leonie’s best friend. Since they were born.
But Leonie Castillo, scared? The mafia princess who had killed one of her kidnappers without breaking a sweat, both wrists cable-tied together? The girl who had a better aim than some men I’d been in the military with? The girl who hadstolen my heart even back before I knew I had one?
I couldn’t hold back the explosion. “Scared? Why would she be scared of him?”
“He’s… he’s quick to anger.” Issy stammered syllables before any more words came out, her eyes wider than before as she looked up at me, now standing over her. “God, don’t give me that look. He’s never actually hurt her—”
My fists were clenched so hard I might break a finger. Last night, when Leonie had told me he cheated on her, her eyes had been dull. They’d only brightened when I told her to move my hand from her neck. “He has.”
“Yes,” she said, lifting herself on her knees and reaching out for me with a hand. “But not physically—”
“Pain is pain,” I interrupted, voice tight, and stepped away from her touch. “You should have got her to leave him long ago.”
Issy shook her head. “No one gets Leonie to do anything.”
“Fine, but I can’t promise I won’t kill him.”
Not a lie. If he put one hand on her or manipulated her in any way, I would put my gun to good use.
“That’s fine,” Issy said and nodded enthusiastically at me. “In fact, that’s encouraged.”
I snorted as the shower turned off and Issy went back to her chair.
“I mean it,” she whispered. “You could.”
She was right, I could. I would if given half the chance.
Did he not think Leonie had been through enough? Next month was the anniversary of her father’s death and the hell hole that her life became afterwards. The least he deserved was the loss of a finger. Or his dick.
Leonie came out of the bathroom, holding the towel tightaround her chest, so high up it showed far more of her legs than I had seen in some time. Apart from maybe an Instagram post the other week. Which I may or may not have zoomed in on. A few times.
“Dom’s offered to take you to grab your stuff from Jared,” Issy called after her as she darted for her room. Leonie stopped in her tracks.
“I don’t want to,” she said, slowly facing us. Her eye makeup was smudged from the shower.
I wanted to cause those smears. With pain, with pleasure, with sweat, with tears.
“Well, we’re going,” I said and gestured to her door, trying to keep my gaze above the towel. “Now go and get ready.”
“You can’t make me.”
I grinned. Bless her. “I think we already established that I can. We’re getting your shit and then you’re done with that prick.”
Issy was nodding enthusiastically, taking our plates to the sink. “Maybe it’s best you stay in the car, Dom.”
In the time I looked over my shoulder to agree with her, Leonie had escaped behind her bedroom door.
8
Some Things Haven’t Changed
