He probably couldn’t see it, but I grimaced at him anyway. “Is that really what you’re focused on right now? Jeez, dude, unfuck your priorities.”
Although there might have been a tiny part of me that agreed with him. It wasn’t enough that she was a drug lord’s ex—she had to be the boss’s daughter too? That was just icing on the goddamn cake. I’d gotten us away from Troy’s old buddies, but would I be so lucky with Barton?
“Drop us off at my place,” I instructed Grey.
Barton had said no hospitals unless his daughter was in need of immediate medical care. He said he didn’t know how big this thing was, or who he could trust yet. Still in DC when he got the news about the kidnapping, he couldn’t have been here quickly enough, so he was counting on me alone to keep her safe. I was only thirty minutes from her, and he trusted me implicitly.
Too bad he had no clue that I’d been eating his daughter’s * and lusting after her so badly I ached. God damn it.
“No . . . Lan . . .”
I startled when a slim hand brushed mine. I looked down to see Lacey gripping my fingers weakly. Her blue eyes were still heavy-lidded, but much brighter than before.
“You really came . . . for me?”
“Of course I did.”
She trailed off into a blurry mumble. It might have been my imagination, but I thought she said I’m sorry.
“Shhh.” I stroked her tangled hair. “It’s okay. Just rest.”
It wasn’t fucking okay, not at all. My doubt was still growing, and with it, my angry sense of betrayal. But for now, I let Lacey sleep—and I let myself enjoy her warm weight, knowing how soon I might have to push it away.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lacey
Only once we were inside Nolan’s house, with the door bolted, could I finally relax enough to draw a deep breath. He sat me down on the soft leather sofa and my entire body sagged in relief. The fear and adrenaline from the last several hours drained away; I knew I was safe. Thank God. What I didn’t know is where I stood with Nolan.
Turning to face him, I opened my mouth to say something, to thank him for saving my life. But the words died in my throat. He was fuming mad, stalking around the living room with a grimace, double-checking his gun before placing it on the dining table.
“You lied to me.” His voice was hollow and broken, and I hated the look that I saw in his eyes. I hated myself even more for putting it there.
“I w-wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you a hundred times . . .” My voice cracked on a sob.
He placed a blanket around my shoulders. But I knew I couldn’t read too much into his tenderness; it was only his training kicking in.
“Then why didn’t you?” He stood before me, his fists clenched at his sides, a vein throbbing in his neck.
“Because I couldn’t. Would you really have been okay with me telling you I was Jerry Barton’s daughter?”
He looked down at the floor.
“I didn’t think so.” I swallowed. “And even without the romantic connection we had, if I’d told you that I was in trouble, told you everything like I wanted to that first night . . . the first phone call you would have made would have been to my dad.”
“Damn right I would have. It would have been the smartest thing to do to keep you safe.” He stalked closer. “Do you know what those men could have done to you? Do you have any idea how bad this could have been for you?”
I shuddered. “I know.”
“So how about you try explaining this to me again. What in the fuck was going on inside that pretty head of yours?”
“That I was tired of being my father’s prisoner. I was twenty-three, and barely allowed to date. Especially not Troy. Dad hated Troy. Never wanted him in my life. He kept saying, ‘I can tell that boy’s a bad egg, young lady, mark my words.’ Of course, being forbidden just made me run to Troy faster.”
I let out a short, bitter chuckle. “And then it turned out Dad’s hunches were right all along. I discovered Troy’s secret. He was deep into some crazy shit. But if I’d admitted that to Dad, that would have been the end of it. I probably wouldn’t have been allowed to date or do pretty much anything until I was thirty-five. There was no way I was going to let that happen.”
“You were going to fix things with your own two hands,” Nolan said. Was that a hint of respect in his voice?
“Yes.” I nodded fervently. If I could just make him understand . . .
“And I was your backup plan.”
My mouth dried up. “Only at first. You became so much more than that. Once I got to know you . . .”
“Was it all fake?” he asked, his tone soft and sad.
“No, Nolan. Of course not.”
“Stay put,” he muttered.
Turning away from me, he stalked into the bathroom at the end of the hall. I heard cabinets open and jars clinking around. I wondered if his hands were shaking as badly as mine were.