When we reach the beeping car that comes to a sharp halt in front of us, Jagger throws the door open.
Tae is waiting in the backseat, waving his arms to beckon us inside. “We heard they were looking for you. Hurry!”
“Get in,” Jagger urges.
I pause. I either have to face the media circus alone or get into a car with the rockstar who broke my heart and the barista who I fucked a few days ago. I make the split-second decision and get into the back, heart pounding as the car door closes behind me.
Even though I made the same decision a year ago, and it ended in disaster, I hope I’m making the right choice this time.
NINETEEN
Delilah
Jagger slams the car door behind us as he climbs in next to me.
“Go,” Tae urges the driver. “Now.”
“Hold on tight,” a gruff Southern voice grunts from the driver’s seat. In the dim light, it’s hard to make out any real features aside from the alpha’s mountainous shoulders. “This may be a little bumpy.”
Hang on a minute… Why does he sound familiar?
I don’t have time to place the voice as the car does a super speedy three-point turn, while camera flashes continue assaulting us. The wheels screech against the asphalt, throwing me into Tae’s side.
I squeeze my eyes closed, fighting to stay composed as all the scents in the car merge together—espresso, caramel, maple, and the smell of a crackling campfire—consuming my sinuses. I don’t think I’ve ever smelled such a delicious, panty-melting combination. I squeeze my thighs tightly together as my mouth waters. What is happening to me?
“It’s okay. Nash will get us out of here.” Tae protectively curls an arm around my shoulder. Although his steadying touch feels good, it doesn’t help the involuntary chemical reaction that seems to be taking place between my legs. “I found your friendsand told them you’re okay. Kady told me she’s tracking your every move with an app and something about bringing the wrath of the Sinclair dynasty down on us if we hurt you.”
A nervous giggle spills from me, knowing she was being serious. “Sounds like Kady.”
After some maneuvering around tight bends and shaking off the group of reporters, the driver breathes a sigh of relief before announcing, “We’re clear.”
Coming to my senses, I lean forward to pull away from Tae, feeling silly to have been shaken up by such an encounter.
Tae’s brown eyes sweep over me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I manage to reply, still slightly breathless. “I think.”
“I can’t believe they showed up.” Jagger looks out the rear window from his position in the front seat. “The paps are relentless. Security was supposed to keep them away!”
“They tried,” the driver mutters from the front.
“They were bound to come looking for you after you stopped the show,” I point out.
“But I had to speak to you?—”
“We need to decide where we’re going next,” the driver, who I assume is named Nash, interrupts Jagger.
Now that we’re on a road with more streetlights, I catch a glimpse of his face in the rearview mirror. It can’t be… But it is. Fuck. I internally cringe. The same alpha who cradled me while I cried is in this car. Embarrassment swims in my belly.
“You’re in Jagger’s pack too?” I’m surprised how clear my words sound since my tongue feels huge in my mouth.
“It’s not Jagger’s pack,” the driver replies gruffly. “It’sourpack. And we still need to decide where we’re going.”
Disbelief tugs at me, knowing that he’s seen me at my most vulnerable.
“I need to go back to Stella House.” I point out the window. “If you pull over, I can walk from here. It’s not far.”
“No way.” Jagger turns to face me. “The paparazzi may still be following us. It’s not safe for you to be alone. You’re coming back to our place, then we’ll arrange to get you home safely from there.”
