Millie

After eating, Lochlan and I returned to his apartment rather than going back to his office despite there being several hours left of the workday. We sat next to one another in the car's backseat in silence that, while not companionable, was noticeably less hostile. A few times, I caught him glancing over, his eyes almost always settling on my lower half. The temperature notched upward a few degrees, and I pressed my legs together to ease the desperate ache the memory of his fingers pulsing inside of me caused.

Once, he saw me watching him, and rather than looking away quickly, he pointedly held my gaze while sliding one hand across his thigh, his legs widening with a perceptible twitch. It was an open invitation I didn't have the nerve to accept. His disappointment was palpable, and I didn't catch him looking my way again. When we arrived at the apartment, he told me to help myself to whatever I wanted in the kitchen, and he disappeared into what I presumed to be an office for the rest of the evening.

Tossing and turning in bed, I replayed the events in the diner. Lochlan's apology caught me off guard and ruined my plans to hold a grudge against him for the foreseeable future–preferably the extent of our time together because I was beginning to think it was the only way we were going to make it out of this situation without ending up in bed together. As much as it loathed me to admit, I didn't lie when I told him I wanted his touch, and it wasn't because I found him more attractive than any man I'd encountered before. In the coffee shop, before he locked me firmly in the category of enemy number one, I had been lucky enough to glimpse his true self. Cocky, for sure, but kind with a sharp wit that was more alluring than his smoldering brown eyes.

While it might have been easy enough to dismiss that version of Lochlan as nothing more than a charming facade he used to hit on women, the last twenty-four hours in his presence were proof enough that his callous demeanor toward me was the act. The evidence was in the tender way he tended to my feet and his insistence upon protecting me despite his suspicions.

Or maybe, I thought to myself the next morning as I soaked in the oversized bathtub in my suite, the con artist is being conned. In the morning sunshine, what had seemed so certain while lying in the dark, nestled in sheets of satin that smelled like him, my hand working between my thighs until I moaned my release into my pillow, now felt like a foolish delusion I'd sold myself in order to feel less guilty about being turned on by him. The man was a walking red flag–controlling, arrogant, emotionally unstable, and used to taking what he wanted where he wanted it.

Forty-five minutes later, I walked out of the bedroom in high rise, wide leg jeans and a white ribbed crop top with a red leather jacket. Bonus points for underwear since no one had been pounding at my door rushing me this morning. Had Lochlan trusted me enough to leave without barking orders or insisting I cancel my plans with Anna?

"Oh," I said, stopping at the end of the hallway when I caught sight of Anna sitting on a barstool in front of the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in her manicured hand. "Am I late?"

"No, dear. I'm rather early. It's not something I can claim to be a habit, but I was very excited about seeing you again."

Guilt slammed into me, making it difficult to force a smile to my lips. "I was glad you got in touch with me so quickly. Mostly to save me from Lochlan's attitude."

Anna let loose a rather girlish giggle. "Oh dear. I was afraid when we made this arrangement, he might be insufferable. Lochlan takes protecting our family seriously, and well, even though I've been quite stubborn about this entire thing, I'm not completely blind to the dangers I've opened us up to."

"Do you think I'm dangerous?"

Sadness pierced her expression. "I think you could be dangerous to my heart, but regardless of why you answered my call–money or answers–you're here now, and I sense you're a good girl. Even if you end up not being mine, I am going to treat you how I hope others have treated Marianna over the years. With kindness."

Blinking back tears, I turned my back to her to grab a mug from the cabinet. "Would you like some more coffee before we leave?"

"No, at least not anymore of Lochlan's. The man has no taste in coffee. We'll stop and pick something up from my favorite shop. Then we're going to hit up all the best shops. If you're going to be seen with the Reed family, you have to look the part."

"That's really unnecessary," I insisted, knowing Marcus would kill me for speaking those words out loud. Anything she bought for me today would earn a lot in resale. We needed every penny to keep the Butcher at bay.

"Nonsense. Let me spoil you."

She took the coffee cup from me and set it on the counter. Dragging me to the front door, I looked over my shoulder. "Shouldn't we at least say bye to Lochlan?" I half expected him to storm out and insist on coming with us.

"He left shortly after I arrived. Said something about having a lot of work to catch up on after yesterday. Whatever did you two get up to?"

"Nothing. A boring day in the office." I looked away from her to hide my blushing cheeks.

True to her word, Anna dragged me from shop to shop, only switching things up around noon to grab a bite to eat at a French bistro called Benoit. She demanded I try her favorite cocktail there, a delightful drink called Inglorious Berries. It was a concoction of vodka, lemon, strawberries, and vanilla. From what I'd learned of her during our afternoon together, it was a perfect metaphor for her personality. Strong, sweet, and a little tart. I understood exactly why Lochlan was so determined to keep this woman safe from the world and its opportunists.

Safe from me.

Two hours later, we found ourselves both rather tipsy as we purse shopped. The slightest thing made us giggle, and if it weren't for the fact someone recognized everywhere her we went, I knew the sales clerks would have asked us to leave already.

"Oh darling, come look at this," Anna said, lifting a crimson bag into the air. It dangled from the tip of her finger, and in my peripheral vision, I caught the sharp intake of breath from the anxious clerk who had hovered nearby wherever we went in the store.

"It's lovely," I said, squinting as I ran my hand over it. If I held very still, I only saw one, which was how many I thought there should be. It would be too embarrassing to ask.

"You are stunning in red, and every girl should have a Birkin. We'll take it."

"A what?" I proclaimed as she whipped out a black credit card. "No, no, no. I don't need a Birkin."

"Don't argue with your mother," Anna said, paying for the purse and shuffling me outside before I could say anything else. "Where's the car?"

The purse felt like a million pounds in my hands. Tearing my gaze away from it, I searched the area, thankful for once that I was tall enough to see over most everyone else.

"Down there," I pointed. Our black luxury sedan idled nearly a block away. "We must have wandered a bit. I have a bad habit of that."

Anna hooked her thumb over her shoulder toward the coffee shop that was two stores down. "My feet are absolutely killing me, and I need to use the restroom. I'll call Neil and tell him to come to us. No need to walk all that way. Do you need to come in? Want more coffee?"

"No, you go on."

A bit of my buzz had worn off as I tried to calculate the money she'd spent today, and I wanted water more than anything else. Facing the crowd in the coffee shop was not the least bit appealing, and while there was nowhere to sit out here, at least I could lean against the building and enjoy the brisk air while I waited for Anna.

Twice, I almost pulled out my phone and messaged Marcus. I couldn't do this any longer. For whatever reason, this job felt different. It felt wrong. We couldn't say we were targeting someone who deserved to be knocked down a peg. Anna Reed was a kind, grieving woman who didn't deserve this.

Then I saw him standing across the street. His hair was shorter, and his clothes were different–less hippy and more professional. If it wasn't for the menacing air that hung around him like a tainted shadow, I might have overlooked him, but there was no doubt it was him.

The Butcher had followed us to New York.

He waved, then crooked his finger, commanding me to come to him. I shook my head and clutched the Birkin bag against my chest, as if the fourteen thousand dollar leather bag had some sort of magical powers to protect me from him. Maybe if I turned it into cash, but that would only buy me time. Not my freedom.

Greg pushed his jacket behind his hip, exposing the metallic glint of his gun. If he thought that was going to convince me, he wasn't as smart as I'd heard.

"I would stop arguing with the man and go, sweetheart," a rough voice said in my ear as a bony hand clamped down on my elbow. "He just wants to talk."

"Not here," I snapped. "I'm with someone."

"And that's on you to come up with an explanation."

Twisting, I grimaced as pain shot down my arm, but I looked the thug in his beady eyes and hissed, "If he wants to get paid, he will let me be. I'm working." Those words felt filthy in my mouth. "Now, let me go."

He replied by gripping me tighter and pulling me toward the busy street. Frantically, I dug in my heels, wedging the purse between us, and pushed against him so hard I saw stars as his fingers cut off blood supply. That would bruise later.

A car honked, and I could feel heat from its exhaust as it whizzed by. I pulled back my leg and kicked, striking the man in the back of his knee. He fell forward, pulling me with him, and asphalt tore through my jacket as we landed. With a curse, he rolled over me when he got up, and this time, instead of my arm, he grabbed my hair and yanked.

People were shouting. More cars were laying on the horn, and in one final, desperate attempt to get free, I wrapped my fingers around my hair just below his hand, alleviating the pressure enough and charged forward, catching him in the chest as he turned to face me. His eyes widened in surprise and rage, and then all life left them as metal crunched into his body, severing his hold on me as he was pulled beneath the car.