Road To Fire (Broken Crown Trilogy #1) - Maria Luis Page 0,31
visit him would not only put an eventual target on his back, but another on mine. As it is, I’m walking a tightrope that might snap at any moment.
Isla working as a go-between nets me the continual information from Bootham while keeping me out of the limelight. It’s a perfect arrangement, and I’m not interested in learning anything that might fuck it up.
I shake my head. “No debt owed. Attend confessional, put on your best redemption tour, and I’ll see that you get paid.”
It doesn’t take a clairvoyant to read the relief that spears Isla’s expression. “How much?” When I list off a sum, her eyes go saucer-wide. “Saxon, no. I-I can’t accept that. That’s way too much.”
My skin prickles at the sound of my name coming off her tongue, and I force myself to take another step back. “It’s not nearly enough. The wrong person catches wind of what you’re doing, and you’ll be wishing you hadn’t agreed to a blasted thing.”
Her gaze finds mine, wary and bold, an alluring combination that tugs at the frayed strands of my conscience. “I can handle the pressure. I don’t crack.”
I think of the way she held the knife to my throat. A wry smile tips the corner of my mouth and Isla stares at me, as though she’s witnessed a ghost. Or just what’s left of my humanity. “Monday,” I tell her, letting my arms fall to my sides as I head for the pub. “Come to me immediately after confession.”
A second passes, and then she calls out, “Am I to call you boss now?”
My shoulders stiffen at the unknowingly suggestive tone in her voice.
I will never sleep with you, even if you get down on your knees and beg.
I didn’t lie when I told her she couldn’t handle a man like me. A woman like Isla Quinn will want to make love, and that act doesn’t belong in my limited vocabulary.
I don’t kiss.
I don’t whisper sweet words guaranteed to make her come.
I fuck.
I rut like a wild animal.
I’m the devil in disguise, and it’s best we both remember that.
Glancing over my shoulder, I find her standing in the same spot I left her, her hand loosely wrapped around her strawberry-blond hair to keep the strands at bay. Her features are drawn, suspicious, despite the fact that she’s essentially placed her life in my hands, and I nearly bark out a laugh.
To think, for even a second, that she might be insinuating something more—I’m the one living in the fanciful world. Me, not her.
“Call me whatever the fuck you want,” I tell her, voice curt, because it won’t make a difference at the end of the day.
Beauty and the Beast may have triumphed in the fairytales, but in reality, the only thing I’d manage to do is lead her straight to the grave.
12
Isla
“We should celebrate.”
At my announcement, both Josie and Peter pause, Josie with her soupspoon halfway to her mouth and Peter mid-sip from his water glass. They exchange a quick look, and not for the first time do I wish that my parents hadn’t waited so long to have more kids. I’m eleven years older than Peter, almost thirteen older than Josie, and am soundly on the outs when it comes to their secret communications that include brow lifts and nose twitches and silent stares that I can’t decipher worth a damn.
Josie dips back into her bowl for more beef stew. “What are we celebrating?”
I sit back in my chair. “I got the job.”
Well, not the job. Not the one I applied for, at any rate, but I figure it’s best to keep the details to myself. Something tells me they’d both read me the hypocrite act if I confessed to the fact that I’ll be spying—sort of spying?—on Father Bootham for the foreseeable future.
Josie blinks. “The server position, you mean? At The Bell & Hand?”
“That’s the one.” I reach for the plate of bread and snag a piece. “I start Monday.”
“Monday?” Peter echoes, reaching up to run his fingers through hair the same shade as my own. “You start this Monday.”
Hearing the agitation in my brother’s voice, I purposely make eye contact to reassure him. “It pays well.” More than well, actually. Maybe because spying will prove dangerous and you might die. I swat the thought away, ignoring the ball of anxiety gathering in my throat. “I know that it’s not as posh as the network, and it definitely isn’t my old publicist job with the firm, but—”