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I let out a steadying breath, but it does nothing to calm my racing heart.
“I’m sorry for waking you,” she whispers, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before they flick back open and settle on me.
“I was awake anyway,” I tell her truthfully.
We stare at one another in an uncomfortable silence for long seconds. What do you say to the girl you’ve dedicated your life to saving when she’s finally in front of you?
“You should eat something.” I say the first thing that comes to my mind. We found her and Clara twenty-four hours ago, but she never touched any of the food we gave her. Not on the flight, not when Tommy and Clara left and I ordered every single room service item in the hope she would eat something.
Nothing.
She shakes her head slowly, panic flashing in the unreal blue before her mask slips back into place. I hate how good she is at hiding. “I’m not hungry.”
I rub my hand over my face, the fatigue weighing down on me. But it doesn’t matter how tired I am, not when the idea of not being able to protect Mia will stop me from sleeping. “Mia—” I start, but she interrupts.
“You can go back to bed, Ace. I’m fine.” And before I can even process her words, she turns over and tugs the covers higher until she’s nothing but a small lump in the center of the bed.
I watch her for another few seconds, but in the end, I turn on my heel and close the door gently behind me. I’m not sure what I was expecting when I finally brought her home, but it wasn’t this.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MIA
Ilinger in my room for as long as I can, but after being locked away for years, being in one room for too long leaves me antsy and anxious.
There were voices a couple of hours ago—Ace and another man speaking in low whispers for a few minutes before the door to the suite clicked shut quietly behind whoever it was—but there’s been no sound since.
After the worried looks he was giving me in the early hours of this morning, I half expected to wake up to Ace sitting in the chair in the corner watching over me, but when I opened my eyes, he was nowhere to be seen, and I hate to admit to myself that I’m disappointed by that.
Why would he be here after the way I handled things after my nightmare? I’ve been nothing but cold toward him since the moment he came back into my life, which is unfair considering what he saved me from. He could have dumped me on the street as soon as we set down in Chicago, but instead he booked this extravagant room and has seen to my every need, even the ones I haven’t admitted to having.
I peek through the crack in the door to find Ace at the small table beside the kitchenette, surrounded by computer screens and laptops. The soft whir of the motors fills the otherwise quiet room, and the scowl on Ace’s face tells me there’s something on one of the screens he’s not pleased about.
The door creaks and his eyes shoot up to meet mine, his features softening as he looks me over as if I may have hurt myself overnight. It’s hard to reconcile the boy I knew before with the man who sits in front of me. He’s harder now. His baby face has changed into sharp lines with a dusting of stubble. His hair is just as unruly as it always was, except now it makes him seem unpolished in the most delicious of ways. And his eyes are haunted, just the way mine are when I look in the mirror.
“You’re up,” he says, standing from his seat. “I was about to come check on you.”
“Where did all this come from?” I ask.
He drags his eyes away from me to the screens set out in front of him. “I had a friend bring it over from my apartment. I have a whole lot of pissed-off customers who are waiting for things to be done.”
“Oh.” I look down at my feet, warmth spreading across my cheeks. I’m in the way. Of course I am.
“Do you want some breakfast? I can order you something?” He reaches for the phone balancing on the corner of the table, every other inch of surface covered with equipment.
I shake my head, my stomach squeezing painfully at the thought of food. He seems to have a fixation on my eating habits, and I’m not sure how long I’m going to be able to keep denying him before he starts asking questions. “No, thank you. I should get going. You’re busy.”
I turn and quickly slip my feet into the tennis shoes I left by the door. They’re the same muddy pair from when we escaped, but they’re all I have apart from the things the Saint James family bought me, and I want to owe them as little as I can. I had to take a pair of leggings, a long-sleeve shirt, and a jacket, but the rest are still sitting in their bags with the tags attached.
By the time I turn back around, Ace is standing a few feet away, his eyes wild and panicked. A pair of sweatpants hang low on his hips and a tight gray T-shirt wraps around his bulging biceps. Tattoos wrap around his forearm, mingling with the veins that protrude from his skin. Jesus, did he grow up. If I were capable of being attracted to another human being after everything I’ve been through, I’m sure I would fall to my knees for the boy I always looked up to, who I thought would save me.
“Please stop trying to leave,” Ace says as calmly as he can manage, but the tension in his jaw gives him away. I’ve been around enough men over the years to know when they’re on edge, and Ace is as close to the precipice as anyone I’ve ever seen, and I instinctively take a step back.
Move away from anyone who can hurt me.
Do it quietly.
Don’t make them angrier than they already are.
