But what happened at the house?
I must have misunderstood…
I push the thought of what my father did away, assuming it must have been a shock or something. He was reacting on instinct or out of fear.
The man is looking back toward the road, and I’m still staring at him. He is as gorgeous in profile as he is looking for head on.
Dammit, Athena, focus!
“Hey! You have to talk to me. This is some kind of police brutality or …something, I don’t know. But you can’t do this. It’s not legal!” I sound like I have no idea what I’m talking about, and that’s because I don’t. I’ve never been in a situation like this!
The beautiful stranger scoffs. A dark, deep laughter rolls from his chest. “Legal?” he smirks at me. Briefly, his eyes drag over my face and down my body. It’s crazy how one glance like that can send a thousand messages. My heart races as my imagination shoots out of control.
That can’t be legal either. I mean, ok, he didn’t say anything, but that look was… suggestive.
Oh, please, try proving that in a court of law.
Ok fine. Never mind legal. It’s not professional. That’s because he’s not a policeman.
No, he has to be a policeman.
Panic deepens
I huff loudly. Frustration sears through me as I fight to control my thoughts and get a grip on this weird situation.
“Which police station are we going to?” I ask, realizing we aren’t going in the right direction.
“Which one would you prefer, darling?” he asks with a hint of threat in his voice.
The question throws me off. So does his tone. My eyes trace over him again, slower this time, paying attention to details.
He’s impeccably dressed. The suit looks expensive. Black leather suspenders under the jacket. Crisp white shirt. My eyes trace up his arm, onto his hands as they grip the steering wheel. Tendons move beneath the skin.He has beautiful hands.Thereis a tattoo on his hand coming out from beneath his sleeve. I can’t make out what it is. He has heavy silver rings on his slender fingers. My brain is screamingnot police,but my mind is refusing to accept that. If he’s not the police, who is he?
“What is your name?” I demand.
“Adrian. What’s yours, darling?” he answers, surprising me.
His voice is so deep it’s almost soothing. He speaks with a casual confidence.I should rather call it arrogance.
“If you don’t even know who I am, then why are you taking me?” I snap.
“Because your father is in a lot of trouble and owes me a great deal of money.”
I shake my head. “It can’t be. My dad earns basic wages. He works at a warehouse packing orders. He doesn’t borrow money from people…”
“He didn’t borrow it. He stole it. Not money—products.”
“No… it just doesn’t sound like him at all. Please, there has to be a mistake,” I mumble, getting more desperate.
“There is no mistake, I assure you.”
The stranger, Adrian, turns off the main road and into an underground parking area. The car growls loudly in the enclosed space.
“I have a right to…this isn’t a police station!” I blurt out.
“How very observant of you,” he says sarcastically, making me want to reach over and claw his gorgeous eyes out. How infuriating can one person be?
“I want to go to a police station!” I yell.
