What the hell is she doing out here alone after midnight? Either she’s reckless, or she’s reached the point where staying inside feels worse than whatever waits outside.
I keep moving toward her, not rushing. But also not retreating.
She turns when I’m only a few feet away. Her eyes lock on mine, surprise flashing across her face before she schools it into something sharper. Defensive. The fire snaps back into place like it never left.
“Ridge,” she says. “What are you doing here?”
“Ironic,” I reply, stopping short of her. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s a free city. Last I checked, I don’t need permission to breathe. I’m no longer your captive, remember?”
“Not what I said.” My gaze flicks over her once quickly assessing her. There are no obvious injuries, and no one is hovering too closely. “It’s late. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Her mouth twists. “Didn’t realize you were taking over that job now, too.”
I almost smile. Almost.
“Someone has to,” I say. “Clearly, Laurent’s not making sure you’re safe if he doesn’t have tabs on you in this city.”
Her jaw tightens, and for a second, I expect her to turn away. Instead, she exhales, and her shoulders drop just a fraction. The edge doesn’t disappear, but it dulls.
“I couldn’t stay in that house,” she mutters. “Needed air. He doesn’t know I’m gone. That satisfy you, Mr. Stone?”
“No,” I say. “You should be smarter than that.”
She lifts her chin. “Are you worried about me or that Laurent’s going to lose his mind if he finds out?”
“I couldn’t care what Laurent does, unless it hurts you,” I answer without hesitation.
“Let me worry about myself. I’m no longer your concern,” she snaps, but the sound lacks conviction. Up close, I can see the strain she’s carrying. The tightness around her eyes. The way she keeps her arms locked like she’s holding herself together by force.
“There’s more moving in this city right now than usual. You don’t see it because you’re not supposed to.”
Her eyes narrow. “And you are?”
“I’m the one cleaning it up.”
She lets out a short laugh. “Leave me alone, Ridge.”
“I intend to.” I shake my head once. “But I’m taking you home right now.”
She hesitates. I can see the argument forming, pridepushing up against exhaustion. After a moment, she exhales.
“Fine,” she says. “But only because I don’t have the energy to fight you right now. You’re still a pretentious asshole.”
I step back and give her space. “My car’s ten blocks up.”
She follows, keeping a careful distance. Neither of us speaks. The silence is thick, charged with everything we didn’t say the other night and everything we’re still avoiding now.
I’m aware of her with every step. The sound of her boots, the heat of her presence is all-consuming.
She senses it too. I know because she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
When she slides into the passenger seat, the noise of the city is sealed out. I start the car and pull away without comment. She fidgets with the hem of her shirt, then glances over.
“I left something at the bunker,” she says, too casual to be believable. “Can we stop there?”
My grip tightens on the wheel. “What did you forget?”
