washboard of his abs and tapered waist, the bulge of his biceps and his corded forearms. It’s hard not to look at him.
When I drag my gaze back up, his mouth tugs into an arrogant smirk. He knows how my body reacts to his, the way I want him even when I wish I could wrap my hands around his throat to choke him for the games he plays.
“Sit. We won’t bite,” he jokes.
I have the bruises that say different, every one of them tingling in reminder of where his mouth has been. On my inner thighs, my breast, my butt.
Finally taking a seat, I tug my cotton shorts down to cover one of those bruises, Ari’s eyes flicking to the movement while Lincoln’s arm stretches around my shoulders.
Ari immediately shoves Lincoln’s arm away, the two men leaning back to stare at each other.
Lincoln smiles while Ari narrows his eyes, and I laugh again to see someone screwing with Ari as hard as he screws with me.
The stare down ends when Lincoln chuckles and pulls his arm away, Ari giving him one last warning glare before turning the screen of the computer in his lap to me.
Pointing at one person in view, he asks, “Who is that woman?”
My attention doesn’t snap to the woman he’s pointing at, instead my brows tug together at the recognition of the room several people are sitting in, the black and white camera feed flickering just slightly.
“Is that Grant’s house?”
Ari taps the screen on the woman again. “Who is she?”
“How do you have cameras inside Grant’s house?”
A vein of anger unravels inside me. How long has he had these?
“That’s not what’s important. Just tell me who she is.”
“How long have you had cameras in his house?”
My head turns, and I stare up at him. Grey eyes pin mine, his face so close that I can feel the heat of his breath against my cheek.
“Why do you always want to look at me like I’m the bad guy? Stop worrying about what I’ve done, and start paying attention to what I’m trying to show you.”
Because he is the bad guy. He just refuses to see it. “How long, Ari? Have you been watching us this entire time?”
“They’re Grant’s cameras. I simply borrowed them.”
“That doesn’t excuse what you’ve done.”
Lincoln speaks at my back, interrupting the argument.
“Your husband has two rewards out on you, Adeline. One for information on your whereabouts and safe return, and one for someone to kill you. Would you like to know which reward is higher?”
A cold chill rolls down my spine at what he says. I don’t have to ask which reward is higher. I already know my husband wants me dead.
Peeling my eyes from Ari’s face, I look down at the screen and feel a new wave of anger for an entirely different reason. “That’s Patricia. Grant’s secretary.”
“Ah, well, that explains the late nights at the office he blamed on your sleep issues.”
“How do you know he was doing that to me?” My head snaps up again.
Ari stares at me with such a placid expression, the lack of morality of his stalking not a concern at all.
“We should continue this relationship on the basis that I know everything. Stop asking stupid questions.”
His finger taps on the screen, drawing my attention down again. “Who are these three men?”
Not recognizing them as business associates, I shrug. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen any of them before.”
Ari taps a few keys to zoom in on their faces and take a screenshot.
“Then that’s for me to figure out. Most likely they’re the people who knew how to get the word out there is a price on your head. Hiring an assassin isn’t exactly easy to do.”
Assassin? What the hell have I gotten myself involved in? How do Ari and Lincoln even know about a reward for my death if they aren’t somehow involved in whatever fucked up underground network this is?
“How do you two know about him offering money for someone to kill me?”
Lincoln answers, his voice calm. “Because I’m one of the people who got the call.”
When panic at that thought strikes through me, I try to jump up from the couch, but Lincoln puts his arm in front of me, knocking me back.
“Listen, kid, you probably just figured something out that I wish you didn’t know about us, but it is what it is.”
“You both kill people for money,” I guess, hoping like hell they’ll deny it. Their silence is deafening, and it’s