Page 53 of The Wrong Brother

That gets her attention. Her eyes lift sharply. “Excuse me?”

“You think distance protects you.”

“Maybe it does.”

I study her across the candlelight quietly. God, she is beautiful when angry. The dark dress exposes the elegant line of her shoulders, while the city glows behind her through the restaurant windows.

Mine.

A dangerous, untrue thought. She’s not mine; just a prisoner. Just staying, barely staying, for the money I’ve offered her.

“You agreed to this arrangement,” I remind her softly, feeling irritated once more at the thought that she’s just here for a transfer.

“And then I found out your business includes trafficking women.”

I stare her down. That’s not something I’ve mentioned, I don’t think, not in front of her. The money laundering yes. But she’s either been listening closely or being nosy. The latter is dangerous.

I set my wineglass down carefully. “Escort work is not trafficking.”

“Right,” she says flatly. “Because rich men paying vulnerable women for access has historically gone so well.”

Ah, there it is again, not judgment exactly, but fear. The very reason I decided to turn the industry on its head.

Something in her expression sharpens too personally for this argument to be theoretical. It burns a hole in my chest, the need to know why this is so close to home for her. Surely…

But no, Emma is nothing like the women I work with. Insecure, yes. But surely she’s never been beaten, been taken advantage of.

If she was?—

The thought spirals, a hot rage burning up my spine.I’ll find them. I’ll cut them down. I’ll make them beg.

Emma shifts uncomfortably, biting her lip, and I realize I’ve been silent for too long. So much anger for an imaginary situation.

I lean slightly closer across the table. “You continue reacting like someone who has seen this world before.”

She goes still instantly. Then recovers too fast.

“I watch documentaries,” she says lightly.

A lie. She keeps telling them and probably thinks I haven’t noticed. But I have, and I’m keeping track. There’s a reason that Emma Pierce put that stipulation in the contract, and though I’m a man of my word, I’ll find out who she is sooner or later.

I smile faintly. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Her jaw tightens. For one brief second, I consider pressing harder. Demanding answers. Cornering her until whatever secret keeps flickering beneath her skin finally surfaces.

Instead, I say quietly: “Careful, Emma. You’re a smart girl. And you’re here to do a job. Do it, and I can let you go.”

The warning lands softly between us.

Her eyes narrow immediately. “Is that a threat?”

“Yes.”

Honesty unsettles her every time. It’s as if a part of her, somewhere deep inside, is still naïve enough to believe, or want to believe, that I might not be as bad as I seem to be.

“You do not get to judge me while hiding things from me yourself,” I continue evenly. “Especially while living under my protection.”

Something flashes across her face then. Anger? Humiliation?