She’s quiet for a bit, and when I reopen my eyes, I catch her chewing her nails nervously as she drives slowly through the streets.
My leg throbs, and I sit up to let up on the pressure. She’s tied the tourniquet so hard that I’m more at risk of losing my leg from loss of circulation than from bleeding out. Gucci’s shot stung like a bitch, but it didn’t strike the flesh deep, more like a scratch really.
“You need me to…” I trail off, wondering if she’ll admit that her nerves are getting to her.
“No, you should rest. Maybe call a doctor or, better yet, an acting coach.”
And then she accelerates, and my car responds with a low hum. Her worries are replaced by a look of exhilaration. She keeps checking her mirrors, making sure the streets are relatively empty, but she’s not pushing the sound barrier, that’s for sure.
“Jesus, woman, put your foot on it. I’m dying over here,” I tease her.
It’s like giving her a green light. She not only floors it, but she drives like a seasoned professional, one who has been track racing for years. I want to press her for details, but the look on her face, and the way her presence shines, means questions can wait while she enjoys herself.
I do reach over and tug her seat belt tighter when she takes one corner too sharply. Instead of bitching me out, she laughs before stomping her foot down and making me and my Blackwing purr like mountain lions.
Flicking off a quick text to my pack mates, I let them know to meet me in the house, also asking them to arrange a clean-up crew for Gucci. And one for me too.
Without being told, she slows down when we get closer to our destination.
“You drive well.”
When she turns toward me, I sit on my hands, so I don’t reach out and pull her over to kiss the blinding smile on her lush lips.
“I want this car.”
“The car comes with the owner.” I wink at her, and she blushes. The glow of color looks incredible on her.
Using hand signals, I direct her into the building, and I wave the guards away as she drives down the ramp.
“Where do you want me…?” Her question trails off when she gets a better look at the collection of vehicles all lined up neatly. “I lied. I want that one. Or that one.”
She inches past the pair of 2011 Ferrari GTOs, but the silver Corvette Stingray steals all her focus, and she nearly stops the car as she stares at it. Something about the Stingray does strange things to her, and when she accelerates again, her smile is long gone, and stress makes her sweet smell all but disappear.
“Stop the car,” I say quietly, trying not to add to her distress, and she complies. “What happened?”
Her hair moves from out behind her ears as she shakes her head, and her hand fucking trembles as she pushes her hair away. I watch as she closes her eyes, not answering me in words but telling me all the same. One of her ghosts is haunting her, and the car was what set her off.
I pull up Leon’s contact.
“Boss.”
“List the Stingray. I want it out of the garage in the next five minutes and sold within a day.”
I hang up and climb out of the car, ignoring the twinges of pain as I make my way around to her side, opening the door and pulling her out. Leaving the keys in the ignition, I guide her with a soft press of my hand away from the ugly reminder of something obviously pretty fucking horrendous. “I meant what I said. I’ll protect you now.”
I know my words get through to her, because I hear her releasing the breath she was holding. Instead of speaking, she jumps back into pretending to help me. Sometimes you need to focus on other people instead of yourself. I know from experience.
The elevator is already waiting, and my fingerprint takes us straight up to the penthouse. Even though I can stand, I keep leaning on her until just before the moment we arrive.
Hitting the stop button, I keep the doors closed as I awkwardly slide out of my suit jacket.
“What are you doing?”
I hold it out for her, and she keeps staring at me.
“We need to talk, and you’re not wearing enough clothes for that to happen.”
She looks down at herself, noticing for the first time that she’s only wearing yoga pants and a bralette top. The lingering discoloration of bruises covers her torso, and her ribs are taped. As she realizes I’ve noticed her injuries, the fight from before returns to her eyes.
