Shattered Throne: A Dark Mafia Romance: War of Roses Universe (Mice and Men Book 3) - Lana Sky (top romance novels .TXT) 📗

a trafficker?” I ask of Briar Winthorp. After hours of driving to ensure any tracker lost our trail, it’s the first time I’ve spoken to her directly.

Though, a better question would be, how in the hell have I become beholden to her?

Somehow, she wound up picking our latest destination. Far from any “slum,” the Norfolk hotel is a venue well beyond my typical price range. I suspect her insistence on it specifically isn’t pure coincidence, either. She’s planning something.

When we first entered the suite, she went directly to the window to “enjoy the view.” Not exactly the behavior of a woman just targeted by a sniper. Unless that attack was all for show.

Or, she’s fixated on something enough to ignore the risks.

When I come up behind her to inspect the view for myself, all I see is the city’s center, the harbor in the background.

“You can start talking now,” I warn her. “I specifically requested a room with no neighbors.”

“And here I was, assuming you just valued your privacy.” To her credit, she’s damn good at obscuring her fear. And her motives. I find neither in her gaze as she turns to face me.

“After sitting on my ass while you played chauffeur for the better part of two days, I need a bath, soldier. You can wait to interrogate me after or join me.” Her sly smile doesn’t fool me. She’s aiming to stall.

When I don’t respond, she strolls across the room, entering the bathroom.

“You could have sprung for the penthouse suite,” she remarks in disgust from inside it. “But this will do.”

She starts to close the door and jumps when I spring forward, blocking its closure with the flat of my hand.

“I think I will join you.” I ignore the rasp in my voice. It’s not eagerness. It’s impatience. With force, I shove the door open, making her stagger back in alarm.

“No more stalling. No more games.”

Her throat jerks around a hard swallow. She’s unnerved but recovers well enough. As she slinks toward the enclosed glass shower, her sly grin returns in full.

“If you wanted to see me naked, you could have asked.” She fingers the straps of her dress before sliding them down her arms and shimmying from the material.

My eyes track the garment’s descent. I’d be a fool not to watch her in case of a concealed weapon—but as her ass comes into view, a potential ambush is the least of my concerns.

Apparently, she views underwear the same way she does morals—unnecessary. Bare skin forms a healthier shape than I’d expect, given how thin she is.

Damn near perfect…

Minus one glaring flaw.

“Here.” I snatch a rag from the counter and approach her, reaching for her hip.

She jumps, whirling around. “Don’t you dare touch me—”

“You’re hurt.” I nod to her lower back.

She contorts her hip to follow my gaze. Her lips purse together, her eyes narrowed over the bruise taking shape there. Dried blood streaks the skin, stemming from a vicious scrape marring the flesh along her left upper thigh.

“You must have landed on it when you fell,” I say.

It looks painful. The rush of adrenaline must have kept her from feeling it—and the injury alone might be proof that our dramatic escape wasn’t entirely faked.

Someone so vain would never willingly undertake the risk of bodily harm.

“It’s just a scratch.” She snatches the rag and swipes at the wound before dropping it and stepping into the shower. “Faux concern doesn’t look right on you, by the way,” she quips. “I much prefer your aggressive side. When you have your hands around my throat. I do like it rough, after all.”

I ignore the part of me that reacts to her words. My cock jolts, but celibacy is the reason, not her in particular—it’s been a while since I’ve fucked anything, be it a woman or my hand. Approaching the counter, I run the water cold and wet my fingers—all while watching her in the mirror.

“You never answered my original question.”

She sneers. “Why didn’t I stay with my sister and enjoy the secondhand benefits of her perfect, happily ever after, you mean?” She whips that curtain of hair around her shoulder and turns on the faucet. With an exaggerated moan, she puts her back to the spray, bearing her front to me. This part of her is unmarred, her nipples hardening as the droplets of water make contact.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not cut out for peace and tranquility.” She winks. “I much prefer chaos and danger.”

“Chaos,” I echo. “Like supposedly leaving your son in the hands of a monster?”

She stiffens, glancing away. “You can ogle my ass all you’d like, soldier, but don’t make the mistake of thinking you intimidate me. I left my son. You killed a young girl. In the grand scheme of evil deeds, one seems to outweigh the other.”

I shut off the water, and she grins in triumph. Her aim is to rile me. All to distract from that topic.

“Your son,” I say, not taking the bait. “Do you even care about him, or are you just worried about protecting your own neck?”

She strikes the glass barrier of the shower with the flat of her hand. “How dare you!” Anger paints her cheeks red, her body tense.

I almost believe she’s truly insulted.

Then she drops the act with a mocking laugh and leisurely arches her back beneath the water.

“I left my son,” she says as though it were an act equivalent to forgetting a toothbrush. “Don’t expect maternal theatrics from me. I am not my sister. You won’t be able to use Ali to play on my heartstrings.”

“Ali,” I echo, recalling the last time she mentioned the nickname. Short for Alexander. “You don’t give a damn about him?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Do you give a damn about the things you leave in the past? Like Amina… Wasn’t that her name?”

Damn it. I flatten my palm against the counter, and she giggles.

“This isn’t about me,” I snap.

“Then I suggest you carefully weigh where you want this conversation