I grip the wheel tighter and repeat my truth. “We kept you safe, and we gave you what you wanted.”
“What I wanted?” She lets out a laugh that sounds almost unhinged. “I wanted the fantasy to be with strangers, Rhodes. With men I didn’t know. With men I couldn’t catch feelings for. That was the whole point.”
My hands clench on the steering wheel. It hits different because it makes me question if she has feelings for me.
“Tough,” I say. “The fantasy’s over, and your safety is our priority.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I use the silence to navigate through the city streets, away from her apartment and toward the safe location we’ve already prepared. The SUV is bulletproof, so for now we’re secure.
“So what now?” she asks, her voice quieter. “What happens now that I know it’s you? Are you going to fire yourself? Are you going to disappear and pretend this never happened?”
I look at Maddie in the rearview mirror. I’ve wanted nothing more than for her to understand that what we did, what we’ve been doing, isn’t a lie. It’s simply a different version of the truth.
But I can’t say any of that right now. Not with the adrenaline still pumping, and her this angry. So instead, I drive.
Maddie wraps the blanket tighter around herself and stares out the window.
Protecting her is easy. Figuring out how to keep her heart from hating me—nowthatwill be a whole lot harder.
Chapter Eleven
Maddie
The safe house is cold and sterile; it smells like nothing at all. There are no photos on the walls, no personal belongings, nothing to make it feel like a home.
After we arrived, Rhodes grabbed a spare set of clothes from a bag in the SUV and handed them to me—a black T-shirt and sweatpants that were way too big. I turned on my heel without a word and stalked to the bathroom to get changed.
Now I’m drowning in clothes that smell like him, and it’s infuriating how comforting it is.
I’ve shut myself in the first bedroom I could find, not waiting for his explanation, nor do I want to hear his apologies or justifications. I need to be alone.
The adrenaline from the escape wore off about twenty minutes ago, and now I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, trying not to lose my mind.
How long—how long have they been lying to me? Was it them every single time? It had to be, but I was too stupid to figure it out.
There’s a knock on the door, and though I attempt to ignore it, the knock comes again.
“Go away,” I call out, not even looking up.
Another knock.
“Go away!” I shout. “I don’t want to see you.” The door swings open anyway, and I look up, ready to tear someone a new asshole.
It’s Vander. Of course it’s him. The man who somehow always knows exactly what to say, even when he says nothing at all. I hate that they sent him.
“Don’t,” I say, holding up a hand. “Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it.”
He steps into the room and closes the door behind him, then leans against it. I can see that he has showered.
“We caught him,” Vander says. “Your stalker. The police have him in custody now.”
I blink. That’s not what I expected.
“Your father is downtown dealing with the legal stuff,” he continues, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “The threat is now neutralized.”
“Congratulations,” I say flatly.
Vander just looks at me, and we sit in silence.
