Page 22 of Collateral Claim
“The people of Couldermouth dislike strangers.”
I sigh. “Luckily for me, my stay will be so brief, they’ll never meet me.”
Endo grunts. “Keep my ring on your finger at all times so I don’t have to kill anyone for messing with my collateral.”
Jesus.
“Nod so that I know you understand me.”
“I understand.”
Endo uncuffs his sleeve. “This is my favorite place on earth. Name’s Widow’s Keep, a former pirate fortress. Those thick walls withstood tides, weathered storms, and kept an army of enemies away from the people inside. If your dad comes after me or tries to rescue you, he will find only death. I’m telling you that in case he or that little prick of his attempts a rescue. Also, there’s no escape.” Endo slides forward over the leather seat.
Instinctively, I scoot back until my spine hits the door. I’m trapped. His cologne, along with his energy, invades without permission or apology.
“We don’t keep horses,” he says. “But later this evening, I’ll show you other things you can ride.”
I sigh. “I’m not interested.”
“In what?” He fights a smile.
“In your riding equipment.”
“I have a collection of motorcycles.” Endo brushes a knuckle over my cheek, which is probably rosy from the heat rising in my body. “But I’m game for whatever you feel like riding.”
“I don’t want to feed your fantasies.”
“You thought of sex. Not me.” He smirks. “Been a while?”
“None of your business.”
He laughs. “That long, huh?”
I’m not ashamed of my celibacy, but I never want him to find out.
Endo glances at my mouth, then says, “Welcome to Widow’s Keep.” I gasp when his lips brush the corner of mine as he reaches across and opens the car door behind me.
He sits back and tilts his head, expecting me to leave, but my brain is scrambled, it seems, and I can’t move.
“I trust you’ll find your suite acceptable.” He lowers his voice to a near whisper. “Lock your door.”
With that, he leaves so I can breathe and exit the car.
The sun hits me in the eyes right as I step out. I shield them with my hand.
On my left is the lawn on this side of the river. Men with machine guns guard the property. Most of them are facing the forest leading into the town as if expecting an army to come through it any moment. Behind me is the river, which flows back into the thinning forest, and on my right is the house. And by house, I mean a mansion, or better yet, a fortress.
Widow’s Keep is a massive three-story Georgian mansion made of dark gray stone. Evenly spaced, tall, narrow windows framed in polished white stone adorn the structure. Endo walks up the steps of the grand entrance and stands between the two columns that support the portico.
He turns around. “Are you coming, or do I have to drag you?”
A young blond man wearing a black-on-black uniform pops open the trunk and grabs my suitcase. An identically dressed man gets behind the wheel of the car and drives off.
The one with the suitcase carries it up and speaks with Endo.
“Take your time, Scarlett,” Endo says. “I handpicked men who have all day to guard you.”
I climb the steps. “How long have you lived here?”
