"Because I'm here talking instead of shooting," he says simply. "Because if I wanted to hurt you, you'd already be hurt. And because right now, I'm the only one in this fucking mess who knows where you are. And we need to keep it that way if you want to stay alive. Every damn second I waste arguing with you is another chance for them to take you out. Permanently."
The thin man, Tommy, clears his throat. "Boss, we should move. Cops will be here soon."
Damon nods and looks back at me. "Last chance. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."
I look at the open door, then at his face, trying to read something, anything, that might tell me if he's lying. But his expression gives nothing away. He looks like a man who's made more difficult decisions than this and lived to tell about it.
"If you're lying," I whisper, "if you hurt me…”
"If I'm lying, sweetheart, you got bigger problems than me hurting you."
I take a shaky breath and climb into the backseat of the SUV. Damon slides in next to me, and Tommy gets behind the wheel.
As we pull away from the club, I watch the club disappear in the side mirror. An hour ago, I was dancing and living my best secret life.
Now I'm in a car with the enemy, and my bodyguard is dead.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask as Tommy navigates through the late-night traffic.
"Somewhere safe," Damon says, settling back in his seat like he owns the world.
"Safe from who?"
"That's the million-dollar question, isn't it?" He turns to look at me, and in the passing streetlights, his eyes look almost sympathetic. "Someone wants your family dead. And until we figure out who, you're staying with me."
I press myself against the door, as far from him as I can get in the confined space. "My father will never agree to this. When he finds out you have me, you’re a dead man."
"He won't find out. Not unless you do something stupid."
"This is kidnapping."
"No, it’s protective custody. Your daddy's got enough to worry about without wondering if his precious daughter is going to turn up in pieces inside a garbage bag."
The casual way he talks about violence, about death, alarms me. This is what Papa tried to protect me from. This world where people get shot in alleys and daughters disappear in the night.
"I want to call him," I say. "I need to tell him I'm okay."
"Can't do that."
"Why not?"
Damon looks out the window as we turn onto the highway. "Because the people who tried to kill your family tonight? They're still out there. And the minute you make contact, they'll know you're alive."
"So?"
"So, princess," he says, turning back to me with that cold smile, "sometimes being dead is the safest place to be."
Chapter 4: Damon
The safe house sits forty minutes outside the city, tucked away in the hills where nobody asks questions and the nearest neighbor is three miles down a winding dirt road. I bought it two years ago through a shell company, just another property investment that happens to have bulletproof windows and enough weapons stashed in the walls to outfit a small army.
The girl hasn't said a word since we left the highway. She's pressed against the passenger door like she's planning to throw herself out at the next red light, which would be fucking stupid but probably not out of character for a girl who thinks sneaking out to go clubbing is the height of rebellion.
"Almost there," I tell her as Tommy navigates the last turn onto the private drive.
She doesn't respond, just stares out the window at the dark trees rushing past. Her mascara is smeared under her eyes from crying, and she's got that shell-shocked look I've seen on civilians who've witnessed their first real violence.
Except she hasn't actually witnessed anything yet.
