Eleven
Knox
* * *
I’ve been twisted in knots all day over this girl and I’m not even sure how I got here.
I’m home for a purpose.
My Grandfather galvanized the family to prepare for a possible reckoning. I get it. I’m willing to do what is asked of me to keep everyone safe.
But this?
I didn’t sign up for this shit.
Protecting a woman who clearly doesn’t want my help is not only driving me to drink, but it’s a waste of fucking time. If she keeps this up she’s actually going to end up hurt or worse.
She’s a walking disaster.
A beautiful walking disaster.
I call her cell phone and can’t help but notice her reaction to me calling. It’s confusing. Her reaction is a strange brew of anxiety and amusement. Is she actually enjoying this cat-and-mouse game?
“Dare I ask how you found me?” she asks snidely when she answers the phone.
“It wasn’t hard.”
“Seriously, you’re creeping me out,” she whispers into the phone. “How did you find me?”
“Why don’t we leave some mystery to this relationship of ours. I wouldn’t want to teach you all of my tricks too quickly.”
“You’ve wasted your time coming here. I was coming home in about fifteen minutes, anyway.”
“Then I’m right on time to give you a ride home. You’ve been out for over twelve hours, Cinderella. It’s time for you to return to the real fucking world.”
“I got you good, didn’t I? You were snoring so hard, it was easy. I just tiptoed right out of the front door and you didn’t hear a thing. Some protector you are. Wait until I tell your dad about this. The golden child failed his assignment because he was dead asleep. You might want to ease up on those rum shots at night.”
The pure glee in her voice is irritating. She is enjoying every moment of this.
“This isn’t a game, Gigi.”
“Says you.”
I notice two little shifty eyes that cut into Gigi in a way that disturbs me. Immediately, I know it’s him.
“Who is that kid sitting next to you?”
“Why are we still talking on the phone when you’re standing right outside?” She says, raising her voice then returning to a whisper. “This is weird.”
“Who is he?” I ask again, pissed that she has zero clue who she’s even sitting next to.
She huffs exaggeratedly. “Which guy, Knox? I’m sitting with two men.”
“The angry looking one.”
Can’t she see that? He’s shooting daggers in the back of her head.
“He’s not angry, he’s my coworker.”
