“Because my family is currently stepping on land mines that used to belong to someone else.”
I shift in my seat, turning toward him. “Sin.”
He keeps his eyes forward. “Rowan.”
“That’s not a real explanation.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
I should push. I’m good at pushing. It’s basically my brand. I have pushed powerful men into stammering messes on record. But this is different. This isn’t an interview. This is a car at night, miles of road ahead, and the man beside me is the difference between alive and not. And there’s something in his voice that says the subject is a scar. Not fresh, but deep.
So I adjust. I go softer. “Are you in danger too?” I ask.
His jaw flexes once. “I’m always in danger.”
“That’s a very you answer.”
He glances at me for half a second. In that brief look, I see it. Something guarded, something tired. Not fear. Not exactly. Weight. “My brothers are chasing a lead,” he says. “A family thing. Cal just wanted to know details.”
“And what are the details?” I ask.
He grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “They found a name tied to an old consultancy. A name that matters to us.”
I watch him, waiting. He doesn’t volunteer anymore.
“So Cal pulled you away to talk about… your brothers?” I ask carefully.
“And to remind me I can’t split my focus.”
“What did you say?”
He answers without looking at me. “That I can.”
A chill slides under my skin, because that’s the kind of confidence men have right before the universe tests them. “You don’t even know what you’re dealing with,” I say.
His voice stays calm. “Neither do you.”
Ouch. Fair.
We drive for another few minutes, the road humming under us. I try to ignore how my body keeps leaning toward him, like it’s seeking warmth. Like it’s seeking certainty.
Eventually I speak again, because I’m me and I can’t help it. “Where is this safe house?” I ask.
He doesn’t hesitate. “You’ll see.”
I stare at him. “That’s what kidnappers say.”
He flicks his gaze to me, expression flat. “Do you want to know the location or do you want to be safe?”
“I want both.”
“Pick one.”
“I hate you,” I mutter.
“Noted.”
I huff, then immediately regret it because it makes me sound like I’m twelve. The problem is, the fear is still there. It’s just… managed. Kept in a cage by the fact that Sin is beside me, steadyas a metronome. Which is insane. I met him a few hours ago on an airstrip, and now my nervous system is acting like he’s my personal security blanket with biceps.
