“Rest easy, cherub,” he says. Then, softer, “I won’t let anyone else hurt you.” The violence that laces his voice … it’s another reminder of how fierce he can be and how well earned his reputation is.

“You’re … staying?” I say, brushing some sweaty strands of hair from my face.

He was pretty adamant about not sleeping over only a couple of weeks ago.

He’s quiet for so long that I assume he’s not going to answer me.

“Yeah,” he eventually says, “I am.”

Present

“So what’s our next move?” I ask, my eyes drifting over the framed photos in the Bargainer’s living room.

Des sits down next to me on the couch and pinches his lip. “Tomorrow, I’d like to show you the sleeping warriors.”

Unwillingly, a shiver courses through me. Just because I agreed to this doesn’t mean I’m thrilled to return to Des’s kingdom. But, sitting around and letting someone fuck with me while I sleep isn’t a good option either, so …

“Do you think me seeing the women will help us figure out what’s going on?” I ask.

He stares at my lips. “No,” he says plainly, “but I’ll show you them nonetheless.”

I look around us, at his living room. “And after that?”

The corner of his mouth curves up. “I’ll give you my case notes to read over, and we’ll go from there. Other than that, you’ll pay off your debt and make yourself at home.”

Caught in the spider’s web. Isn’t that what I felt last time Des brought me here? That every single thing that happened forwarded some interest of his, and I was hopeless to know what it was.

That strange fae beauty of his stares back at me remorselessly. He belongs to a race of beings that kills savagely, brutally. Forcing me to live under his roof and play his games day in and day out isn’t particularly cruel or out of character.

“Do I literally have to sleep inside your home every single night?”

“Don’t worry about that, cherub.”

I laugh humorlessly. “That’s not an answer, Des. What happens when I leave your house to stay the night with a friend? Am I going to spontaneously die?”

“A friend?” he asks derisively. “Is that what you call your men? Friends?”

Your men?

The only reason I haven’t launched myself across the couch and throttled Des is because, like earlier today, I detect jealousy in his voice, and that throws me off.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re presuming a fucking lot right now,” I say. “I was talking about Temper, my completely platonic female friend, you ass.” She and I had sleepovers from time to time. So sue us for not wanting to grow up.

A corner of his mouth curls up. “You won’t spontaneously die. My magic understands nuances.”

Judging by how weirdly upset he got just now, I bet those nuances don’t count my men.

My heart begins to pound as the reality of my situation sets in.

Living with the Bargainer.

How is this going to work, practically speaking? What if paying off my debt does take years? What if I have to watch Des date other women? What if I date other men?

Living together is going to be b-a-d.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

I slip back into my bedroom, pulling out the phone I remembered to pack earlier when I left my place with Des. I scroll down to Temper’s number.

Considering that I now temporarily live on an island, I have to get my affairs in order—namely, I have to warn Temper that I’ll be out of the office for a bit.

I don’t think too closely on how long a bit might actually be.

You knew that one day this was going to come, I admonish myself.

I’d been prepared for the possibility that I would have to leave West Coast Investigations while I paid off my debt to the Bargainer. It doesn’t make me any less sad.

“Hey, bitch,” she answers. “How you doin’?” she asks.

We’ve been texting each other back and forth all day, so she knows I’m alive and well and free of the Politia’s clutches. But she doesn’t yet know I now live with Des, largely because I’m a chicken, and I didn’t know how to break the news to her.

“Hey Temper.” I rub my forehead, trying to keep my voice light.

“Girl, you missed a good day. That hundred-thou client that called in asking for you? Well today he came in, and hoooo-we, that fucker is a looker. No wedding ring, so the dude’s game.”

I bite my thumbnail. It’s the perfect segue, and yet I don’t interrupt her.

“You need to get yourself off that Wanted List,” she continues, “because the way this guy keeps asking about you, I’m starting to think he’s interested in mixing a little business with pleasure. And girl, you have to be dead to not want this one.”

“You should take him,” I say, and then I wince.

She snorts. “Bitch, if he was open to it, the agreement would be signed, sealed, and delivered. He was adamant about working with you.”

“About that …” I take a deep breath. “I’m going to have to take a leave of absence.”

“And this is news how?” Temper says.

I pull the phone away and stare at it for a moment. That was not the response I’d imagined.

“Girl, you’re on the Wanted List,” she continues. “I understand. I’ve taken on your cases until you can come back.”