Page 50 of Deep (Chicago Underground 8)
At the same time, I couldn’t ask him to bring it. I couldn’t handle the thought of him shooting Luke or Shelly. I wanted everyone to walk away from this.
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Philip must have read my worry in the silence. He laughed softly. “Do you think so little of me, kitten? You think a cop is going to get the jump on me.”
“Luke is a good cop,” I said defensively.
A small smile. “That’s how I’d beat him. Disarm. Detain. Killing only as a last resort. That’s what good cops do.”
I bit my lip. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
And I knew he understood the unspoken plea—I don’t want you to hurt anyone, either.
He placed a hand on the crux of my shoulder and neck, both possessive and comforting. His dark gaze captured mine. “I wasn’t going to wave a gun around, kitten. That’s not how I operate.”
Don’t ask, don’t ask. “How do you operate?”
Damn it.
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I don’t pull out a gun unless I’m about to shoot someone.”
“Then why bring it?”
“Insurance. I told myself a long time ago that no man would have control over me.”
Again. The word hung in the air. That no man would have control over him again.
I wasn’t the only one wearing the chains of my past.
I looked out the window at Luke, who watched us with patience and steady determination. He was a good man, a strong one—but he could not touch Philip, for exactly the reason Philip had said. Because he was too noble to fight dirty, and because Philip didn’t know any other way to fight.
“He won’t have control over you,” I said.
“No,” Philip murmured. “But you do. I wonder what you’ll do with it.”
Then he was gone, leaving me staring after him. I scrambled to follow him out of the car, glancing at Adrian, who held the door open.
Adrian gave me a small smile of encouragement, but I could see the tension in his expression. He was worried too. An external threat, Philip could handle. This was something invisible and much closer, shadows slipping between us before we could blink.
I caught up to Philip in time to hear him say, “Good evening.”
Luke simply studied him—and then looked me over. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.
Okay wasn’t exactly the word I’d use, but Philip wasn’t hurting me. That was what Luke was really asking. “I’m fine.”
“Where’s Shelly?” Philip asked, undeterred.
“Inside,” Luke answered. “It’s locked. She’s armed. And she isn’t opening the door until I tell her to.”
Philip frowned. “Someone told you we were coming.”
“You aren’t the only one with friends in low places.”
“I don’t have friends. I have money. It gets the job done quicker.”
Luke shook his head. “And that’s where you’re wrong. You have a friend in Shelly, though hell if I know why. She didn’t tell a damn soul about you.”
“Not even you?” Philip asked, raising one eyebrow.
