A horn blared behind us. Some idiot in a BMW getting brave. I jerked the wheel, cutting him off so close our mirrors nearly kissed. The screech of his brakes was satisfying, but not enough. Not nearly enough to bleed off the violence soaring through my veins.
All I needed was an excuse. Just one.
The BMW fell back. Smart.
I wove through traffic, my hand never leaving her knee except to shift gears. The tires squealed from taking a turn too fast. Anna didn't even blink.
No one was brave enough to challenge me tonight. Even cops clocked my speed and followed for half a block before falling away. They probably ran my plates and decided their shift didn't pay enough to deal with what came next. And I didn’t give a shit about speed camera tickets, they would be dealt with.
In almost no time at all, we were back at the hotel.
"Don't move," I ordered. I threw the car into Park and was already out my door.
I ran around the side and wrenched hers open, reaching in to pull her into my arms. She came without protest, her body limp and pliant as I lifted her against my chest. I carried her like that, pressing her body against mine even though she was still shaking.
The doorman opened the entrance without a word. The elevator ride was silent except for her shallow breathing and the mechanical hum of the lift.
I carried her to my suite, kicking the door closed and locking it behind me before bringing her into the master bathroom. I sether down on the marble counter, the cold surface making her gasp softly.
Finally. A reaction.
I unwrapped the pashmina carefully, my fingers brushing the column of her throat as I pulled it away. Her pulse fluttered against my knuckles—too fast, too erratic. I laid the shawl aside and then cupped her jaw, tilting her face up to look at me.
Her eyes were glassy, unfocused.
"Breathe," I told her, my voice rougher than I intended.
She took a deep breath, and the tears finally stopped, but they were replaced with something far worse. Cold, dead nothingness. She said nothing, did nothing, just stared directly ahead, lost in her own thoughts.
I took off her shoes one at a time, my hands sliding down her calves to her ankles before carefully pulling the red-soled heels from her delicate feet. I let them drop to the floor in a heap.
She still didn’t speak. Her empty gaze still stared straight ahead. She didn't even blink.
I pulled her to her feet, and I wasn't even sure she noticed. She just stood, practically like a zombie.
Could someone go into shock from emotional trauma?
I hadn't heard of it before, but I had also never seen a woman talk like that to her own daughter. I had seen my share of terrible mothers in my day—narcissists, vindictive bitches, and even women who would pimp their daughters out for another hit.
None of them had the vitriol in their voice, the disgust, the willingness to blame their daughter for their own evil doings, as the senator.
Anna was the victim in all of this. As far as her mother knew, there was a bomb on her daughter's neck.
Worse than that, it was top-secret government tech that she had let leak.
No, the worst part was Anna's face.
She had expected her mother’s reaction.
Knew it was coming.
This wasn't the first time her mother had laid into her, accusing her of… I didn't even know what. Anna had lived her whole life receiving that abuse from the person who was meant to protect her above all else.
Anger burned through me, not at Anna, but at her mother.
I reached around her, my chest pressing against her as I found the zipper. She was so still I could feel her heartbeat against my ribs. The zipper slid down like butter, and I pushed the straps down her arms, my fingers trailing over her shoulders.
Goosebumps erupted across her skin.
