Groaning, I yanked my finger away but tightened my hold on the rest of her when she tried running. “Fuck.”
“You ridiculous twat.” She laughed metallically. “You really thought I was going to fall for your broody billionaire bullshit, didn’t you?”
That was it. I wrapped my arm around her throat and used my free hand to tug out my phone. I went through my photo album and shoved a picture in front of her face.
“See this?” I snarled, my finger dripping blood all over the floor. “This is what happened to the last person who fucked with Tiernan Callaghan.”
The image was readily available on the internet from a news piece I’d read earlier. The man had been chopped up and scattered on tree branches.
Gia stopped struggling to free herself, sucking in a surprised breath.
“Now, if I let go, will you run?” I croaked into her ear.
Goose bumps pebbled her skin. Christ, she was responsive. I wanted to offer her something obscene to lie down and open those legs for me.
But Gia was the only woman I knew whose affection could not be bought. The math equation I had yet to solve.
She was silent for a beat before murmuring, “Probably. Better you keep me constrained for this conversation. Not that the outcome will change.”
She wanted more of my touch.
I closed my eyes, breathing her in. Her Tom Ford perfume and a concoction of body oils she put on every night before bed.
“Callaghan wants my throat,” I reiterated.
“So does the rest of the world, I’m sure,” she sighed. “What did you do now?”
“Not important. What’s important is that you’re an extension of me now, whether you like it or not. If they catch you, they will kidnap you, rape you, sever pieces of your body, before I’ll have to pay a hefty amount of ransom to get you back. You don’t want that.”
“There are a lot of things I don’t want,” she spat out, her ass inadvertently wiggling against my cock again. “You’re at the top of that list, by the way. Being followed around by musclemen is a close second. If they come for me, I’ll handle it. I won’t live like a prisoner. Let me go.”
“No.”
She elbowed my ribs, which hardly left a dent, but raising her heeled foot and jamming it against my shin did the trick. I released her on instinct. She grabbed her purse and supermarket bag, stomping to the door.
“No bodyguards.” She pointed at me in warning. “If they chop off a few of my limbs, you’ll only have yourself to blame. Next time, don’t mess with the Irish Mafia, Tate.”
“You’re being ungrateful.”
“Ungrateful?” she choked out, enraged. “The Mafia is after me because ofyou.”
“And I’m pulling all my resources to protect you from them. Really, you should be on your knees servicing me for taking such good care of you.” I lost the last morsel of patience I had for this woman. “No man I know would hire an entire SWAT team to protect a fiancée who hates him.”
“No bodyguards,” she repeated stubbornly, peering between the door and me.
“You walk out that fucking door,” I warned, “and I’m sending both you and your mother back to Britain.”
With a groan of frustration, she breezed toward her bedroom, crashing her bag against my shoulder on her way there. I followed her, tapping at my side furiously.
Two, six, two.
Two, six, two.
Two, six, two.
I didn’t fucking care if she noticed anymore. She’d find out sooner or later.
“If they chop off your good parts and send them to me in the mail, I’m not going to pay ransom to retrieve you,” I needled as I stalked her to her room.
