True North (Compass series Book 4) Read Online Free

chopsticks he’d been using to serve himself. “True.”
    I think he’s going to go on, but instead he ducks his head. “Slade.”
    “Cris.”
    Then off he walks into the checkerboard of tables, finding the one with India, Jack Valentine, and the guy who’s been showing up on more JVA calls and emails lately. Evans, maybe?
    I stand stupidly at the buffet, wishing someone would look at me the way India looks at Cris. The way Pressly used to look at me before everything went slowly to hell. Or even with a modicum of fondness. But for the most part, I scare the crap out of people. Maybe that’s why I’d been so hard on India. She hadn’t been afraid of me. We’re cut from the same cloth, she and I. We get the job done by any means necessary, and sometimes that means people don’t like us very much. Or at all.
    That’s all right. I don’t like them either. I shake the thoughts from my head and wander over to my table where I make inane conversation with other industry people while I try to keep my cool. These things bore me, but at least they keep my mind off exactly how sad my life’s become and keep me from drowning my loneliness in a bottle.
    That’s the price of success, I suppose.
    *
    I’m on my way to the restroom after several glasses of wine, feeling a little less in control than I’d like, when someone grabs me and shoves my back against the wall, a forearm pressed against my throat.
    Holy fuck .
    I can breathe, but barely. My hands scramble at the iron bar across my neck and my eyes bug. I’ve had enough to drink that I’m uncoordinated and not in any shape to effectively defend myself. I cough and struggle, flailing, before I realize it’s none other than Cris Ardmore pressing me hard against the hideously patterned wallpaper so common to these hotels.
    “Decided you didn’t like the idea of my dick in your wife so much after all?”
    Why does this guy erase the connection between my brain and my mouth? If he felt like it, he could kill me. And, as if he’s reading my mind, he leans in harder and I choke.
    We’re in a public place. He’s not going to choke me to death in public. Probably. I can tell his nose has been broken at some point because it’s crooked. I hadn’t thought much of it in the buffet line—people get broken noses a hundred different ways—but now I’m pretty sure it’s because he’s been in a bar fight. Or a dozen.
    “Shut your mouth and listen to me, asshole. I told you I don’t give a shit that you had sex with India. She’s a grown woman and it was consensual. If I went around getting into fights with everyone she’s fucked, I’d never have time for anything else.”
    “Is this because I hit her? She told me to. Begged me,” I splutter.
    “It’s not that either. What I care about is you don’t hit people if you don’t know what you’re doing, and you obviously don’t. You could’ve really hurt her, done some permanent damage. So this is your warning. Unlike you, I know what I’m doing. You’re still getting air and you’ll feel the sensation of me choking you for a few hours, but you’re not going to pass out and I’m not crushing anything. I’m not going to leave any marks.”
    His eyes are flinty hard and laser-focused, and I suddenly rethink my ideas about who’s in charge in that relationship. Is he saying—?
    Another nudge brings me back from my mental wanderings to this insane situation I’ve found myself in.
    “That also means I know full well how to actually harm you. If I ever get wind of you beating India or anyone else irresponsibly, I won’t hesitate. You want to hurt people? Go right ahead. But you make sure they want it and you fucking do it properly.”
    Applying one last beat of pressure, he lets me go. I cough, dragging in a ragged breath and clutching at my throat while my mind races. Who the hell are these people? I expect him to walk off, but he stands there in front of me as I brace my back against the wall and put my