Page 58 of Her Filthy Reverse Harem Romance Collection

Sharp eyes catch mine. Tears prick my eyes and my heart pounds in my ears.

I stumble back in fear.

Fear of the erratic emotions and fear I’ll fall into his arms out of relief of not being alone for another night.

A black SUV with blacker windows rolls up beside us, and I’m hoisted into the back by strong hands on my waist out of the rain.

Panic finally kicks in as my kidnapper slides in beside me.

“You can’t do this. I’m not some plaything you can just pick up off the street whenever you like.”

Every word I spew is in complete contrast to the rampant thoughts whirling through my head. Part of me wants to beg him for news about Grey. If Sylan is mad at me for running away.

If Drake in fact got that scar the night Grey was shot.

But I don’t. “I told you months ago I refuse to let people control me.” I’m about to land my palm across his jaw when I catch a warning in his eye that has me freezing. The driver’s hand on his gun does a pretty good job of that too.

My breath freezes in my lungs.

He studies me for several seconds unmoving before he speaks. “You don’t need to fear me, Katriona.”

“Tell him that.” I point to the dude in the front.

“He’s trigger-happy and stupid. Very stupid.” I caught the warning in his tone at the same time the dude in the front did. He jerks his hand off his weapon and faces forward like a good soldier.

“You have nothing to fear with me.” He scoops my hand up in his and presses a towel into my open palm.

Yeah right! I’m not stupid nor lust-blind. I believe Drake as far as I can throw the two-hundred-plus-pound mobster.

In hindsight, maybe that cab ride home would have been the smarter option after all.

I try my best not to show how freaked out and scared I feel. It’s a razor’s edge I’m skating along as I scoot across the leather and position myself against the opposite door and as far away from Drake as possible. I know myself and falling under his spell is a distinct possibility. I can’t let that happen. Not again.

I glance over my shoulder to find the back of the SUV filled with something that looks like a tarp, but in the darkness, I can’t be certain. It could be grocery bags, too. But that’s just my mind trying to calm my rattled nerves with mundane explanations.

But I’m putting two and two together here and while my mental math isn’t always spot on, mobsters plus guns equal bodies, so I’m going with that being a big wad of plastic.

I let out a huff of frustration. “So all the kissing and protecting back in Sylan’s office was a game to get what you wanted? Play with the enemy’s daughter for a while for kicks and giggles? Then off her once the father is taken care of?” I ask pointedly, aiming my gaze at the back of the SUV.

His eyes slowly trail over my mustard uniform and his grin turns hungry then shifts to amused. “Clearly,” he grunts and I nearly faint on the spot.

They are going to kill me because their friend died. Wrap me up and dump me in some landfill. My mind races with all the reasons they would want me dead and come up with more than one. “So, um, my father didn’t pay his debt before you whacked him and now you’re back for me? You think he left me anything? Not hardly. He didn’t even want to give me his name from the stories Mom told.” I shift in my seat. “You know, kind of surprised it took you six months to find him and me. Speaking of, howdidyou find me?”

“We always knew where you were, Katriona. Before you let that pretty mind of yours run off with ideas of us whacking you, God, such a cliché, take a breather. If we wanted you dead, we wouldn’t have sent protection to guard you every hour of every day. And the last I saw of you, you were screaming out scared for Grey’s life. And kissing him.”

I remember all too clearly. “Stop calling me that. Only my mother called me Katriona.”

I catch a twitch of his upper lip in the street lights as we speed off in what direction I have no idea. I’m too busy keeping an eye on the guy in the front seat and how his hand clamps down on something inside his trench coat.

Sylan

Jesus fucking Christ.

She is more beautiful than I remember. Smells just as divine.

I’ve stared at surveillance pictures and videos of her for so long her image chases me into my dreams. I fantasize about how sweet her lips will taste again. But seeing her. Jesus help me. It’s hard to not scoop her up, take her off to some distant place and just be. Leave the life of crime and grit behind. But too many people depend on me.

Holding back and letting someone else watch over her for the last six months took vast amounts of self-control. And whiskey. Lots of fucking whiskey.

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