She walks to where I’m standing, holds out the keys to my Jaguar, and drops them in my hand with a thud.
“Your car is out of gas,” is all she says as she passes me, her shoulder knocking into mine. I turn to watch as she makes her way to Carson’s car and scoots into the backseat.
Before joining her, I walk over to her mom’s grave and bend down, grabbing the photo and hiding it in my pocket before getting back in the driver’s seat.
The drive back to my house is silent, and even if I could talk, I’m not sure what I’d say. This has all turned into something else. I’ll figure out a way to get the feisty girl I met yesterday back, but until then, she needs rest and medical care for her hands.
After I park the car in the garage, we all exit the car. Brielle follows, not even looking around. She simply stares at the ground as she walks inside.
“Um, I’m going to take off,” Carson says, motioning with his thumb toward the front door. He lives at the back of the property in a small guesthouse so he can be close but still have his own space.
“I’ll get your car brought back here.”
“Thanks, Carson.”
He doesn’t say anything else as he walks out the door, leaving only Brielle and me in the living room.
“I need to clean your hands.” I catch her wrist before I can overthink it, and she comes willingly to the kitchen.
I let go of her, waiting to see if she’s going to take off, and when she doesn’t move, I turn to dig in the medicine cabinet. Bottles clink together as I search for the first aid kit.
“Found it.” I stalk over to the table, setting it down with a thud. Brielle pulls out a chair and sits down while I open the plastic latch on the kit and begin lining things up.
I grab a cleaning wipe and press it gently to her hands, working at the dark, stiff blood stuck to her skin. The cuts are shallow, nothing split open, but the skin around them is angry and already swelling.
Silence stretches between us. My eyes stay on her hands because if I look up, I know I won’t like what I see. Wiping away the last of the blood, I wrap the bandages around her palms tightly, and as the final strip of tape is in place, a list starts forming in my mind. Clothes. Shoes. Makeup.
She needs everything.
And I want to be the one to get it all for her.
11
EMRIS
I plopdown in my chair behind the desk I rarely use. It’s only here for show. I think I’ve only used this room a handful of times, and when I do, it’s when I need privacy. For this occasion, though, I need to call Killian and tell him what happened—and ask him what the fuck I should do about Brielle.
After I cleaned her hands, she still didn’t say a single word. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, and she looked exhausted, so I thought it would be best to give her a break. I showed her where her room would be before watching her take her shoes off and get on the bed. I didn’t stick around after that. I left and locked the door before coming to my office.
I have no clue how to fix what happened. The first night she was here, she fought so hard to get away, and it was amazing… but now she’s not fighting.
I don’t know much about her aside from what Carson told me, but I can tell when someone has given up. I see it often when I do my job. Every man I’ve been hired to kill or get information out of usually gets that look in their eye. The one where they don’t care anymore, like they are welcoming death instead of fighting for their life. That’s when I know my work is done. When they are so broken, they shut down. After I have draggedout every detail I need from them, they want nothing but to close their eyes and not open them again.
I live for that feeling. But not with her. Not with Brielle, and damn it, I already know this is going to be a problem. I barely know her. I shouldn’t fucking care.
I crave her already. The desperation to know every little detail about her, but not actually knowing, is driving me fucking insane. The need to kill something builds the longer this shit goes on, which is exactly why I’m calling Killian. I’m sure he’ll have something I can take care of. Plus, I need to figure out a game plan for the Susie situation. Fucking Carsonwouldkidnap the wrong person.
I dig my phone out of my pocket and find Killian’s number. It rings a few times before he answers.
“Hello, cousin.” The sound of other voices filters through the line, telling me he’s most likely at the compound with the guys.
“Hey,” I sigh, leaning my head back against the chair.
“Why do you sound so down? Girl problems?” he teases.
I close my eyes. Of course he’s spot fucking on. “Kinda. That’s partially why I called.” I hesitate but push on. “The mission went a little south,” I vaguely explain, knowing he’s not going to be happy.
“What the fuck do you mean, south, Emris?” The relaxed and calm Killian from moments ago is gone, replaced with anger.
