Page 45 of Shattered Veil
“And do you...” The air leaves my lungs. “Take care of people?”
“Aye.” He waves his phone. “Revenge via technology.”
I relax. I can deal with the mafia connection if his hands aren’t stained in blood. I don’t know if I could date a killer. I know that appeals to some women who crave alpha men who will burn down the world for them. After what I went through with Wes, I’m not sure I could ever trust that a man prone to violence would not turn that anger on me.
Lost in my head, I catch on that the assistant for the CEO says her boss would like to have dinner with us. Balor fidgets and politely refuses.
They’d treated us to lunch already.
“It’s getting late, and there’s a storm coming,” Balor mentions the heavy snowfall the meteorologists havebeen promising all day.
I’d forgotten about it, but looking up at the sky, a swirl of angry gray clouds takes my breath away.
Moisture in the air thickens, and the temperature drops quickly.
We’re at least one hundred miles from Astoria.
With Balor’s hand on the small of my back, we leave the building, a glass façade that had sparkled against the blue sky earlier.
“Did the CEO travel twenty-three hours just for that two-hour tour?” I ask Balor.
“Aye. I insisted. That’s how I know he’s taking my business seriously.”
At Balor’s SUV, I notice my skirt twisted getting in and out of that hazmat suit.
When I adjust the zipper before getting into the Rivian, an electric land yacht, Balor does a double-take at me.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t want to sound rude. But did you wear that same outfit a couple of days ago?”
Horror floods through me, and my cheeks flare with heat. “Um. Yeah?”
“Are you telling me or asking me?”
“I... I don’t have many winter clothes left right now.”
“Left?”
My face heats up. “All my things are still at Wes’ house. I basically fled with the clothes on my back and my passport.”
Fury boils in his eyes. “What’s his address? I’m going there right now to get your belongings.”
And just like that, I could turn this guy into a murderer. Because it would come down to that, knowing Wes.
Shaking my head, I say, “No. I’m sure he threw it all away. That shows I mean nothing to him.”
Balor opens the rear door to the Rivian. “Get in. Now.”
“I’m serious—”
Two thick fingers land on my mouth. The heat we generated those few hours weeks ago roars like kerosene from a single touch. “So am I. Get. In.”
Giving up, I slide into the backseat, and when the door closes behind Balor, Trace pulls away.
“Please,” I beg. “I know you’re powerful. And your family is...”
“Deadly.”