I had to get out. Every instinct I possessed as a man who had spent his life navigating the rougher edges of the city was screaming at me to make a break for the exit. My head was still thumping with the rhythmic, dull ache of a heavy Scotch hangover, but the adrenaline was starting to clear the fog. I looked down at the woman beneath me—Isabel Myer. The memory of the last few hours was a fragmented blur of aggression and alcohol-fueled desperation. I had crossed a line, a serious one. If she woke up now, fueled by the same vitriol she’d spewed earlier, and decided to call the authorities, my tenure at Longroad Logistics would be the least of my worries. I’d be facing a legal nightmare that no amount of Jennifer Arnoyd’s influence could fix.
I began to pull away, moving with a cautious, s
