Page 112 of Stolen Hearts

“Find her,” I growl before hanging up sharply.

My pulse thuds and my teeth grind as my knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.

Callie’s just defied me for the last fucking time.

27

CALLIE

There’sa huge grin on my face and spring in my step as I walk out of the administrative building. I’m shaking all over, but it’s not from nerves, like it was when I walked in here earlier, popping an extra Ativan to calm my raging anxiety. This time, I’m shaking from pure excitement.

Because I just fuckingnailedmy interview. Like, absolutely crushed it. My pulse hums loudly, my grin stretching from ear to ear as I look up at the sky and the towering buildings around me.

Fuck yeah.

There was no damn way I was missing this. These things arenotreschedulable, no matter what I told Castle, and even asking to do that would look horrible to the acceptance board. Easily a third of my anxiety on the way here and walking into the interview was worrying about Castle after he expressly forbade me to leave the apartment.

But screw that. We literally just watched video footage of the man who shot at us getting on a plane and flying clear across the country. And I mean, I grew up in this world. EvenIknow that most hitmen won’t come back for a second shot if they need to bail on the first.

That doesn’t mean that leaving the house today, especially in the rather questionable manner that I did, doesn’t carry a risk. But again, there was no fucking way I was missing this interview just because Castle’s being his usual overprotective, overly worrywart self. Which isexactlywhy I took a wad of paper towels, lit it on fire, held it up to the smoke alarm, and then hid in the closet by the front door.

After all, as they say, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to get permission.

He’ll be pissed. I know he will. But he can get over himself. This is my entire future we’re talking about here.

I brush the worries away as I take a seat on a bench outside the admin building and pull my phone out of my bag. Instantly, I wince. I put it on silent for the interview, obviously. So I’ve missedtwentycalls and over a dozen texts from Castle. My gaze freezes as it lands on the most recent one.

Castle

There are going to be serious fucking consequences for this

It’s obviouslysupposedto freak me the fuck out, make me scared, or get me to call him blurting an apology.

It doesn’t.

Instead, when I read it and thenre-read it five more times, all it does it light a little fire inside of me. A little flame that makes the heat balling in my core throb and pulse, and my blood run hotter in my veins.

It makes mewet.

My fantasies involving Castle have always involved him taking charge. I mean, duh. But all the daydreamspaledin comparison to the real thing. And now I’m apparently addicted to him taking control.

To him positioning me exactly how he wants, and telling me exactly what to do.

I’ve been called defiant my entire life. Even with Castle, I know I dig my heels in.Except, it would seem, when it comes to the bedroom. Because when he gets his hands or his mouth on me, my bratty nature and my defiance go right out the window.

It’s as if when he touches me, it pulls a trigger in me, turning me into his compliant little toy.

His eagerly submissive plaything.

And maybe that should weird me out, or speaks to something even more messed up in my head. But it is what it is, and there’s no denying it.

My face breaks into a saucy grin as I text a reply.

Me

What sort of consequences?

Castle

---