Take It On The Run

Chapter 63

POV: Sloan

I peered through the midnight-tinted windows, desperate to forget about the man I currently sat astride, about the way my heart and core both yearned for him.

That task was easier said than done as Liam's callused hands danced over me, wiping away smeared lipstick and mascara and finger-combing the knots from my hair. I could tell by the way he was staring at me, by the way he took his sweet time about it, that he relished seeing me like this—exposed, wanton, ruined.

Liam edging me, however, was the least of my concerns.

My stomach twisted into a giant knot as I replayed the last several hours in my head, trying to piece together precisely how the impossible had happened. My future husband—the man I came to Dublin to straight up murder—was no longer just a mark to me. He was undeniably more. Worse, he had discovered my greatest weakness—that he could make me cop to just about anything once he got his cock inside me.

Somehow Liam had turned my own weapon against me. Just the feel of his tip pressing at my entrance, and I had given him everything he wanted. If he could lower my inhibitions and make me admit I had feelings for him this quickly, what else was he capable of?

Now that the dust had proverbially settled, panic began to set in. I couldn't let him get that close again. Which meant I would have to do the one thing I dreaded most in the world, the only thing I'd ever been any good at.

I had to run.

Escaping the mobster before the wedding would prove damn near impossible. After today, people would be waiting on me hand and foot to go over last-minute preparations for the ceremony and reception. Even if that weren't the case, Liam didn't take chances with my safety. He always had a team of guards with me or watched me via security footage. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd microchipped me in my sleep at some point.

Except today Liam had really and truly let his guard down, dismissing his entire security detail and presenting me with a rare opportunity. This would be my only shot at ghosting my fiancé, and I planned to take it.

In typical Liam fashion, he missed nothing, abruptly pausing his work to watch my face like a hawk. The way he always picked up on my emotions and any subtle shift in mood was unnerving, to say the least.

I willed myself not to squirm beneath that predatory gilded gaze as he probed, "What troubles you, a ghrá geal?"

"I...nothing. I'm fine." I realized then that I was openly brooding and quickly shuttered whatever sullen expression I was rocking. "Just a mad case of RBF."

"RBF?" he repeated quizzically.

"Resting bitch face? I'm surprised you didn't learn that on Urban Dictionary, Elder Millennial," I teased, bequeathing him a wry half-grin. "And it's a habit from getting hit on constantly behind the bar."

He gave me a pointed look, and I knew he didn't believe me. "Or somethin's botherin' you, and you don't want me to know about it."

Well, shit.

His rough palms traveled over the bare skin of my thighs, gripping me loosely beneath the satin skirt. "If this is about what will happen later, about your ability to take all of me, I don't want you to worry. I plan to spend hours—"

"Oh my god," I exclaimed, cutting him off. Heat splashed my cheeks and neck, the upper swells of both breasts. "That's not...that's not what I was..." Well, now I was definitely thinking about it. It was hard not to when the man was smuggling a five-dollar footlong between his legs. A smart person would update their last will and testament before allowing that leviathan anywhere near their junk.