Her suspicion grips me by the throat, until I realise this is anopportunity. I grin as I transfer all the items across, and click.
There’s no time to be smug though, as her location dot is on the move.
I don’t think. I’m on my feet and walking out, immediately. If she’s going somewhere, I’m following.
At first I think I’m doing a decent job of this whole stalking thing. I stay at a reasonable distance, watching her in the reflections of windows. I could, and probably should, keep a bigger gap and only track her phone. But the desire to see her and be nearby is insatiable.
But it’s like she senses me. Time and time again I have to slow or turn away as she stops, looking around her.
She walks into the main commercial area of Croydon and I’m a bit confused about where she’s going and why. It’s only when she heads into the bank that I finally get it.
Sweet, honest little thing. I’m so used to lies, or extracting the truth along with a chunk of flesh, it didn’t occur to me she might genuinely need to go to the bank.
I linger on the other side of the street, making a phone call to my second-in-command, Foster, to tell him I’m out of the office for the afternoon, and will focus on the legit branch of the Croydon empire, the hotel work, for the foreseeable future. I guess he recognises that I’m distracted, because he gives me shit for not bringing today’s security detail—with me, and he’sright, because I don’t threaten to maim him for his clucking like a mother hen over a fucking mafia boss a decade younger and six hundred per cent more ruthless than him. Not only that, I think of Lily, alone in the world, and tell Foster where I am. Ten minutes later two of my men are discreetly nearby.
All the time I have my gaze trained on the small figure of my girl inside the bank. My heart jerks as she emerges into the midday sunshine, until I see that her face is crumpled.
I mean to keep watching her from a distance, I really do. Stalking is best done with clear boundaries, right? She won’t welcome my obsession, I’m aware of that. The whole reason for following her is because she’s been scared by men before.
Lily covers her face with her hands, and her shoulders heave. That sleek brown hair has frizzed and come loose from the ponytail.
But I’m crossing the road in long strides, straight to her.
“Lily.”
Her head tilts up and shock registers a split second before I reach her and wrap her in my arms, pulling her into my chest.
“Mr Anderson,” she whispers, clutching my lapels. Then she shakes again, and sobs.
“It’s okay. Whatever is happening I’ll fix it.” I’ll burn that bank to the ground for upsetting her.
“You can’t. I have to go…”
I swear silently that every tear will be avenged with blood. Whose blood is yet to be established. A couple of passers-by eye us curiously. I’m well known around here, and embracing crying girls isn’t my usual activity.
Above Lily’s head I mouth “car” to my men, and moments later one of my discreet navy SUVs slides up.
“I need to return to the office, ride with me.”
Lily blinks up at me as I guide her to the back seat. It shuts behind us before she can get out more than a, “But…”
Then I gather her into me again, pulling her legs across mine. “What happened?”
“The clerk,” she hiccups, “wouldn’t let me access my account.”
“Mmmhum.” I make an understanding noise, but I have no idea what she is upset about. That’s all? Tears over a bank account?
“I have to go to Waltham and get my ID. And I can’t, I really can’t!” Her voice rises to a scared wail.
“What happened, Lily?” I have to know. “Why can’t you go back?”
Then it’s all spilling out. How her parents died and left her with her aunt and uncle. How she was an unpaid house cleaner and dogsbody. How she was unhappy, but managed to tell herself it wasn’t so bad, and got her graphic design degree. She’d been planning to get out.
“And then,” I prompt when she falls silent.
I indicate to the driver to cruise around as I wait for her to speak, still tucked into me. Fuck, she’s so delicate and small. I’m a giant compared to her, and all I want is to keep her safe.
It takes long minutes, but eventually she begins to talk. Lily sniffles out how her cousin, two years younger than her and just ascended to being the Waltham kingpin, had told her she was to do nothing but clean his house until he was ready to trade her in marriage.
