Page 25 of Corrupted Union

“You think I was just going to wait and see if you texted?” Each word was a savage growl. “Fuck no. Better … better to …” He closed his eyes and took a long even breath. “Better to get you out and ask questions later,” he finally said in a slow, even tone as though every ounce of emotion had dried up with his long breath. “And we arenotgoing to tell those men shit. You do not rat on a man as powerful as Lawrence Wellington. Not without a plan.”

He raised his hand as if to cup my cheek, but instead, his thumb tugged on my bottom lip before drifting down until his large hand cuffed my throat. “If we do this, we do it my way.” His grated words were as abrasive as the asphalt under our feet.

I couldn’t breathe, and it had nothing to do with the pressure his hand inflicted. Keir was simply that consuming. Being near him was like dancing on the edge of a black hole—dizzying and mystifying and potentially world-ending.

“Show me you understand, Rowan.”

It was the first time I’d heard my name on his lips, and I was instantly addicted. I was ashamed to think what I would give to hear him say it again. My promise to him felt like a simple price.

Eyes locked with his, I nodded.

He gave a rumble of masculine approval. “Good, now get in. I’m taking you home.”

Her place was smallerthan I expected. The girl had grown up with money, so I had no doubt Daddy could have afforded something nicer. The living room was a good size, but the place needed updating and only had one bedroom.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, though. Nothing about Rowan aligned with the stereotypes someone might expect of a woman in her shoes. She fought against her nature, but it was pointless. She couldn’t be a vapid socialite if her life depended upon it. The question was why. Had the Alexanders been such attentive parents that she’d avoided the standard pretty-little-rich-girl pitfalls? Considering how much time and energy her father’s career demanded, that didn’t seem likely.

I’d never been so damn curious about a woman.

She’d nearly given me a stroke when I’d learned what she’d done. Considering the headache I'd gotten, my blood pressure must have been teetering on catastrophic as I raced over to the Wellington house. Even now in the quiet of her apartment, a remnant of my fear kept me tense and unsettled.

The only sense of relief I’d been given was when Rowan finally showed signs of surrender like a porcupine retracting her quills. No matter how brief, I felt that shit down to my soul, and it awakened a hunger for more. I wanted to know the feeling of Rowan standing before me, every goddamn shield at her feet, offering herself to me and only me.

The craving was so insatiable, I followed her inside her apartment when I knew I shouldn’t. My father might have thought a relationship between me and the governor’s daughter was a good thing, but I knew differently. This woman would complicate my life in ways I couldn’t imagine. That was a problem, especially since I wasn’t a fan of relationships. Commitment meant vulnerability and emotion. Those were two things I’d already seen plenty of in my life and had no desire for more.

Yet there I stood, checking out Rowan’s apartment because I couldn’t force myself to leave.

I was in so much damn trouble.

“It's nothing special, but it works for me,” Rowan said, seemingly conscientious.

“Your father could have afforded something bigger,” I observed.

She shrugged. “Yeah, but there wasn’t a need. It’s just me here.”

My eyes cut to my right, where I could see across a small hallway into the bathroom where a large canvas painting hung over the vanity rather than a mirror. “That some new design trend I’m unaware of?”

Her gaze followed mine, then cut back to me with a touch of challenge. “Not a fan of mirrors.”

Of course, she wasn’t. She probably didn’t like selfies either.

Who the fuck was Rowan Alexander, and why was she so goddamn addicting?

As though squirming away from my scrutiny, she bowed her head and began to dig in her backpack. “I almost forgot. I recorded the girl. She didn’t speak English, so I have no idea what she said, but I figured we could translate. It’s Russian, I think.”

Russian. Hell. That could be totally meaningless or have enormous implications. Why the fuck did Wellington have a Russian captive in his house?

Rowan played back the recording. It was less than a minute long. We used my phone to translate the recording one section at a time. The girl rambled, begging for help, but did give a few tidbits of information. They took her, and then she was with other women in the dark for many days. Had she been trafficked on one of Wellington’s ships? Was he embedded in the skin trade?

Every day that went by, the situation seemed to get worse and worse.

“You’re not going over there again,” I informed her. “In fact, while you’ve got your phone out, text the kid and tell him it’s over. He needs to hear it from you.”

Rowan shot to her feet. “Excuse me?”

The fight in her tone sent my temper soaring. Why would she possibly be defensive about breaking things off with him? “If you think you’re about to argue with me, then save it. There is nothing to discuss.”

“Pardon my impertinence, my liege.” She swept her arms wide with a condescending bow. “I didn’t realize you had rule over my life.”

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