Even though I’d hoped my family would just let me be for once, I knew it was all too good to be true. Didn’t mean Gunner had to be such a dick about it.
“Where are we going?” I asked, wondering if he’d drive me straight back to Chicago.
“Safe house.”
I huffed. “And where is this safe house exactly?”
“Not important.”
I crossed my arms and leaned back in my seat. I might as well see where this safe house was. If it was in Ferguson, I might have a chance at getting away from Gunner.
We drove for about twenty minutes before turning into a new housing development. I hadn’t ever been to this part of town, but at least now I knew where we were. There was only one new housing development in a town this small.
He stopped in front of a nondescript house, and the garage door went up. If anyone asked me to describe the place he’d taken me to, it would match ninety percent of the houses in this neighborhood.
The door closed behind us with a slight bang, and Gunner got out, walking around to my side. He opened my door, and I reluctantly got out.
“I’m not staying here,” I declared when we stepped into the kitchen and Gunner offered me a bottle of water from the sparsely stocked fridge.
“This isn’t a negotiation. And I’m trying to keep you safe. You should be a bit more grateful instead of pouting.” He rolled his eyes. “At least nothing has changed. Guess I can stop wondering if you’d ever grow up.”
“I’m not pouting,” I hissed at him. I bet he still thought of me as the spoiled princess he first met all those years ago. But I had changed. I was no longer looking for trouble, and I certainly was no longer a stupid girl infatuated with her protector.
He sighed and pulled his phone out, dialing a number.
“Talk to your dad,” he said, shoving the phone at me.
I barely had a hold of it when he let go and stepped back, arms crossed over his chest, watching me.
“Rude,” I muttered under my breath before I lifted the phone to my ear.
“Gunner? Do you have her?” my dad asked.
He sounded worried, and I nearly wept in relief at hearing his voice. I’d missed him.
“Dad? It’s Freya,” I said, my voice hoarse from the tears I was holding back.
“Honey.” My dad’s voice softened from the steely, businesslike tone like it usually did when he spoke to me. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“That’s subjective,” I said, glaring at Gunner, who didn’t move a muscle at my words. Oh no, he just continued staring at me.
“I’m sorry you got dragged into this. Business got slightly out of hand,” Dad said, sounding hesitant, something that didn’t happen often. “You know how it is.”
“What the hell did you do to get into it with the Irish?” I asked, suppressing the scream that tried its hardest to escape. Two differing emotions were crashing into me at the same time: elation at finally talking to him and anger that he’d gotten me into this situation.
“Nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart.”
“Of course not. Why would I ever assume that you’d think I had enough brain capacity to understand the inner workings of your precious business?”
“Honey—”
“Nope. Don’t even. It’s been two years, and nothing has changed.”
“I see you’re still angry at me.” He sighed, resigned. “Just don’t do anything impulsive. Gunner is there for your safety, and I want you to do what he tells you to.”
Anger snaked up my spine and curled around my chest, squeezing tight. “How long have you known there was a threat?”
He didn’t answer right away, and I heard movement on the line and a deep inhale before he spoke again. “Six weeks.”
