Page 15 of Returning the Favor

“We got a problem?” Cutter appears in the doorway like Hercules, ready to battle with Cerberus.

“Who the fuck is this, Nadia?”

“Eyes up. You don’t talk to her. You talk to me.” Cutter steps into the small space, and I maneuver closer to him, away from Brute’s black-eyed glare.

“A King?” Brute scowls. “You played Scar for him?”

“Why the hell are you talking about Scar?” Cutter asks coldly.

“Oh, you didn’t know yet?” Brute chuckles. “Daddy and Scar made an arrangement.”

His words smack of truth. “No. He wouldn’t do that?” I whisper.

Brute chuckles. “Poor little lamb, so naïve, she didn’t realize she was up for slaughter.”

Disgust rolls my stomach. “You with him?” Brute nods his head toward Cutter. “Or us?”

“You’re not putting her on the spot in the middle of funeral arrangements.” Cutter rests a hand on my shoulder.

“Because you say so?” Brute stands to his full height, squaring up for a standoff.

“Have you decided?” We all turn to the salt and pepper-haired funeral director in his mid-fifties, nervously adjusting his tie.

“This ain’t over, King. Be at the second location tonight by nine, or I’ll find you.”

I nod. “I’ll be there.”

“Good girl.”

Cutter growls. I step back, pressing my body into him. Now isn’t the time or place.

I turn to the director as Brute walks off. “I’ve decided on the gray urn.”

***

“What the hell were you doing agreeing to meet him tonight?” Cutter explodes the moment we enter his house.

“Doing anything else would be wildly suspicious. I thought the goal was to act as normally as possible. Did I survive the police only to be outed to those who’ll slit my throat and throw me into a ditch and think nothing of it?” I sound calm, but I’m a raging ocean of emotions inside.

Bartered, sold, given, traded. The words circle in my head, taunting me. Bottom line, my father gifted me to a man like I was a piece of meat. My father feigned ignorance when I asked him about Scar, when he fucking knew the truth.

Inhaling slowly, I try to process the new information.

“Are you even listening to me?” Cutter grabs my wrist.

“I’m a little busy trying to wrap my head around the fact that my father expected me to be with a man I hate.” I yank my arm away. “You’ll have to wait your turn to have your tantrum.”

Cutter’s head snaps back like he’s been hit. A wicked smile stretches over his tempting red lips. “Tantrum?” he stalks toward me, and I scramble backward. He grabs my face, gripping my chin and forcing my head back. “Me caring what happens to you is not a fucking tantrum. I’ve risked everything to keep you safe, and you want to traipse into the Wolves’ den with no plan or protection?” he squeezes, and I squeak.

“Cu—.”

“No.” his sharp tone silences me. “I know what you heard is fucking with your head. I get it. But it proves how unworthy they are of your trust. If they did that behind your back with your father involved. Who’s saying what they’ll do now that you’re on your own?” The blood drains from my face. He’s right. “Bet you never stopped to think about that, did you?”

“No,” I whisper as a chill settles over me.

“But I did. Because that’s what I do. I keep you safe.”

“Why do you even care?” I jerk away from him, and his eyes flash.

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