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“Storm…” Another crack of thunder, and I jolt in my seat. Jesus.
“Yeah, it’s just a storm.” His eyes glint.
“And you won’t always be there to hold me.” God, I need to get my wits together.
“Come here,” he says, beckoning, and I find myself rising and walking around the table to him. He pulls me on his lap and holds me there. “We’ll get through this, together. Didn’t I say so?”
“You did,” I whisper.
“Do you trust me?”
So many objections in my mind. So many protests. “I do.”
“Good girl. I promise I’ll find a way out of this. I have a plan.”
“A plan?” I lean my head on his shoulder. Feels safe. Feels good. “And what about your accidents? Or non-accidents?”
“Let me worry about that.”
Unfair. I worry about him. I don’t want him to die, if someone is gunning for him. “Did I tell you that you’re totally nuts?”
“Many times.” He smirks a little, looking pleased with himself. I’m drowsy with my belly full and his warm arms around me, the rain drumming softly on the windowpanes. “Rest. We can talk more later. I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”
A prick of unease in my drowsy mind, and I try to pinpoint it. Everything. Tell you everything.
He hasn’t told me everything yet.
But he will, I think, he promised, and I let myself sink into sleep, trusting him to keep me safe. Which goes to prove that I’m the one who’s crazy, after all.
STORM
She’s slumped on my shoulder, her slight weight sweet in my lap, her arms loosely looped around my neck. She’s letting me in, letting me hold her, soothe her.
It wakes up every protective instinct I own. I meant what I said: I’ll fix this. I’ll tell her everything, and then I’ll make myself go back and get the money to get the mafia off her back.
She’ll know who I am the minute I tell her my given name. These days, everyone knows. My family has been in the news time and again. Deaths, accidents, scandals.
The death of my parents. My uncle taking over until I turned twenty-one. Then me, taking off to live my life my own way, cruising from state to state on his motorcycle and taking odd jobs here and there. My uncle’s death. My so-called accidents.
What should I do? Go back, sure, okay. Talk to the guys, Hawk and Rook. And then what? Visit a shrink? Nobody believes my life might be in danger.
I sit there, Raylin in my arms, and ponder this. I told her I have a plan, but it only extends to paying off her debt. I need to be prepared for another attack on myself. On her, too. On both of us. Because the moment I return with her, her life might be in danger, too.
Fuck.
But what other way is there?
The guys come to mind again. They have connections, know people. Get things done. We’re distant cousins and have been best friends since we were toddlers.
If they believe me. Because right now they don’t.
I have just turned twenty-one, and I’ve come into my inheritance. Since my uncle’s death, the money was managed by his lawyers. Now I need to go and claim it. Who would benefit from my death?
My next of kin is Natasha, second cousin on my mother’s side. But she wants to be a professional hip-hop dancer, and has never shown any interest in being rich. Her parents are well-to-do and seem happy running their family beach wear business and surfing.
They wouldn’t. It’d be too obvious. Wouldn’t it?
Unless it’s not discovered. Unless it looks like an accident.
