As much as I just want to focus on getting her as far away from Vito’s place as possible, with no tangible plan in mind, something in my chest tightens at the sight of her. It’s entirely unwelcome, but that doesn’t seem to matter.
It feels like guilt dusted with a strange sort of responsibility I never asked for.
I’ve spent years making sure my choices only get me killed if worse comes to worst, but now, I’m carrying her fear with me, and I don’t know what to do with it.
Clearing my throat, it sounds rough in the enclosed space. “What’s your name?”
She sits there in silence for a beat longer, as if debating whether she should say anything at all, then sighs reluctantly. “Elena.”
Elena.
It suits her.
“You’re safe, Elena.”
She doesn’t look at me, but I still catch the irritation in her eyes. “That’s debatable.”
Fair enough.
For some reason, part of me feels the need to explain myself, even if I’m still working on understanding my motives. Or whatever the hell I plan on doing with her.
“I’m not taking you somewhere you won’t come back from,” I murmur, intentionally careful now. “I don’t hurt women.”
Finally, Elena’s eyes flick over to me, both assessing and doubtful. “You manhandled me into this car not that long ago.”
“You were resisting.”
“I was abducted. Twice.”
I wince inwardly, since she’s entirely right. “I know.”
It’s not much of a response, but it earns me another burning glare before she looks away again.
Gripping the wheel tighter, I try not to lose myself in this annoying urge to reassure her. Words aren’t always my strong suit, and they never have been. Using violence when applicable is simpler and easier, but something tells me she deserves more than silence and intimidation tactics.
“Think what you want, but I’m not a monster,” I murmur, letting my hand slide across the steering wheel lazily as I turn onto another road leading back to the main strip.
She huffs. “The jury’s still out.”
Despite myself, the corner of my mouth twitches in an almost-smile.
Just as I’m about to say more, to try and explain more about Vito, the Grimaldis, and why she was even bound to that chair like cargo, the hairs on the back of my neck rise, and instincts scream silently in my head.
Checking the rearview mirror once, then twice, I catch a set of headlights coming up behind me faster than necessary. It’s all black and missing plates. Another slides in beside it, almost like it’s choreographed, and my stomach drops.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, feeling adrenaline pooling in my system.
Elena’s voice cuts through the tense silence, “What is it?”
“Brace yourself.”
Before she can question me further, the crack of gunfire shatters through the open space, forcing me to punch the gas harder.
Elena gasps as several bullets get lodged in the back window, cracking the glass just enough to look worrisome. Her eyes widen as they meet mine, and I grit my jaw tight.
“Get down!”
Doing as I say, Elena ducks, shielding her head for extra protection.
