His parents, adopted or not, are douchebags. They’re horrible, even if as it turns out they weren’t the ones who scarred Rook’s soul when he was a child.

No, the honor of that goes to Ian Cronin. As if he didn’t have enough crimes on his long list. But this one might be the worst of them all. To treat your own kid like that… and then pass him on to these awful people to live with, and not even tell him the truth. Why? To protect him, I assume. Being the only son of Ian Cronin must be dangerous.

Not redeeming enough, though. Being a criminal doesn’t excuse a thing. Though I’m grateful Ian didn’t have Rook killed the moment he knew he had a son. Did Rook touch Ian’s heart of stone, or did Ian decide he needed an heir?

So many questions.

Such a bad time to be wondering.

Rook is quiet, his head bent forward, chin pressed to his chest. His eyes are closed. He looks asleep, but he’s not. His brow is furrowed, his cheeks flushed.

I want to hold him and tell him everything will be okay, but the first isn’t possible right now, and the latter would be a lie. I figure he’s had enough lies in his life. He doesn’t need one more.

“We’ll get them,” I tell him instead. “The Carters. And Ian. We need a plan.”

“The one where you trip the guard up?” A ghost of a smile flits over his face, and it warms me up inside, despite the pain in my arms and shoulders.

“And take his cell phone, yes. Got any better ideas?”

“Sadly, I don’t.” His smile fades. His face is pale, his eyes bloodshot. “See, I had made provisions for such a scenario, but I doubt anything will happen any time soon.”

“Provisions, huh? Like, lethal laser pens and voice-activated cameras in your watch?”

“Now why didn’t I think of that?”

My mouth twitches. I sigh. God, I hope Lucy has found a way to come after us. “How’s your head?”

“Killing me.”

I wince in sympathy. He’s lucky he’s not concussed with that hit he took. “Just be ready, when the guard returns. Assuming he does. Him, or another. I’ll stay close to you, so that I can trip him. The moment he’s down, we need to keep him down. Any ideas how to do it, without use of our hands?”

“I’ll throw myself over him.” He shrugs a little, or tries to. He grimaces. “Pin him down. You take his phone, and any weapon and knife he carries, and free us. Do we have a plan?”

“We do.”

“Awesome.”

I can’t help but keep smiling. He looks so young when he’s looking at me like that, trust in his dark eyes, his hair sticking out at all angles, despite the exhaustion written on his face.

He’s so intimidating most of the time, strong and handsome, rich and powerful, that I forget he’s still very young. Barely older than my twenty-two. Born into riches, inside a nest of vipers.

“I like you,” he says, like he said in his suite what feels like ages ago, but was only yesterday. “So fucking much.”

“Right back at you,” I whisper, caught by surprise by the lump in my throat. Apart from Lucy, I don’t really have friends, and I can’t remember the last time someone said something so genuinely nice to me. “You’re a good guy behind all that money and whips, you know.”

“And you’re so damn pretty,” he says, voice low and a little hoarse. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Shucks… “You know you’re not that bad yourself, Mr. Carter.”

His gaze darkens. “Don’t… call me that.”

“Sorry.” I bite my lip. Yeah, he’s not Mr. Carter, is he? He’s Mr. Cronin, and boy if that isn’t a heavy name to bear. A heritage made of blood and tears.

“Come here.”

I’m already right beside him, where I’ve crawled after his parents left, and when he bends down, I lift my face and our lips brush.

It’s a sweet kiss, awkward since we can’t hold on to each other, and hot, probably because of the restraints, as we arch toward each other. God, he is so warm, his lips burning mine despite the chill in the warehouse.

He draws back, panting, eyes dazed. “Shit, never felt this way about a girl. Like I’m falling in love with you. Like I can’t live without you. Am I imprinting on you like a baby duck? Or a hawk. Whatever that stupid bird was in the experiments I read about at school…”

I blink, lick his taste off my lips, my whole body thrumming with desire. “Are you delirious?”

He doesn’t reply.

Shit, maybe he is. His eyes are way too bright, his cheeks flushed. Is that sweat on his face?

We never did get around to cleaning out those cuts in his back. Could infection set in so fast? Or could it be he got a concussion after all?

Of course he’d tell me he’s falling in love because he’s feverish. Why else? What would a guy like Rook see in a girl like me, huh?

Nothing, that’s what. Even if he’s been inside me, even if he’s instructed me how to hurt him sweetly and make him come, even if I’m trying to understand him, and we’re caught in this mess together… I’m still a girl from the wrong side of the tracks—and he’s a corrupt mogul’s son.

Although he’s not like that.

Do I know what he’s really like? I turn this thought over in my mind. Somehow I think I do. He’s torn down his walls time and again for me. But is it enough?

A door bangs inside the warehouse, snapping me back to reality. Holy crap, Mia. Getting out of here should be your number one priority, not wondering about what ifs with Rook, no matter how important it feels.

“Ready?” I whisper, looking up at him. “Could be a guard coming.”

“Let him come,” he mumbles, and crap, his voice slurs a little. “This should be fun.”