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Chapter nine
Silas
Mykneebouncedincessantly, my nerves shot to shit as I watched the clouds stream past, practically invisible to the naked eye as the plane made its way to New York.
Actually, Stone had informed me that we were really landing at a small airport in New Jersey, some place called Teterboro, or something. I wasn’t really paying attention.
I should have been. I should have been gathering intel and committing it all to memory, like I would for any other mission, but I just couldn’t seem to get my brain to focus on the here and now. No matter how much I knew I needed to listen, I couldn’t seem to stop picturing Daphne in horrific situations.
Hurt.
Vulnerable.
Worse.
It was like my mind was trying to torture me, forcing me to see all the worst possible scenarios, knowing that I was hours away from reaching her when she fucking needed me the most.
Why the hell had I let her leave Las Vegas?
But that was exactly the problem, wasn’t it?
Nobody ever let Daphne Pennington do anything. The woman was a force of nature. She did what she wanted, and to hell with the rules.
It was one of the things I loved most about her. Her indomitable spirit. The way she approached everything in her life with positivity and a surety that she would succeed at whatever she attempted.
I doubt there was ever anything that Daphne hadn’t accomplished once she set her mind to it.
Well, except the one thing I denied her.
Me.
The dinging of the seat belt sign brought me out of my pit of self pity—a place I was spending far too much time these days—and let me know we were almost there. Not that there was where I needed to be, but it was a start.
Sitting up straighter, I fastened the belt across my lap and turned my attention to Stone, his face reflecting my own inner turmoil as he sat across the aisle from me in the small private plane he had chartered.
Things had moved quickly after the phone call from Penelope. Stone had arranged transportation while I went to my suite to change. I had been living at The Alamo since Penelope and Stone became official and took over the house in Summerlin. After the Grand Opening of the hotel, Daphne had transferred back to New York, finishing the last two years of her schooling at NYU. I considered going back to Texas, but I had made a commitment to Stone—even though in the beginning neither one of us thought we would be in Nevada permanently—there was really nothing for me back in Texas anyway.
Not that there was much for me in Las Vegas these days either.
Stone stared at me from his seat across the aisle and I could see all the questions brewing behind his eyes. Things he suspected, things he wanted to know, but was maybe too angry to voice right now.
Like I always did when he was brewing for a fight, I waited him out. He’d speak when he was ready.
When he did, it was a single word, but it was really all he needed to say.
“Why?”
I blew out my cheeks, considering before I answered him.
“Because I love her. Because I wanted to protect her, and she wouldn’t let me. Because she was the only thing that mattered and even though I couldn’t have her, I knew that I couldn’t truly let her go either.”
He stared at me, mulling over my responses.
“What did it entail?”
Shit. This was gonna be bad.
“I had Hack deliver me weekly reports on her. Things like her call and internet history, her shopping habits, where she was eating, who she was spending time with.” I turned my head, embarrassed by my actions, but not enough to regret them. Stone grunted, but said nothing.
“I also monitored her grades, her job applications, and her—” I swallowed. “Her online dating profile.”
“Jesus Christ, Silas.”
“I didn’t interfere or anything,” I insisted, wanting to make sure he knew that, like it somehow absolved me of all the wrong my actions actually involved. “I just, you know, checked up on her.”
“Checked up on her, how, Si?”
“I, um.” Shit. This sounded so much worse when I said it out loud. “I had Hack run background checks on guys in her classes and social media contacts. I—fuck—I blocked anyone with a criminal record or—” I trailed off, not wanting to admit the last bit out loud.
“Or what, Silas?”
“Or anyone with a history of STIs in their medical records.” I mumbled the last part. Hack had given me some serious hell for that request, but he came through. He always did.
“Are you fucking serious?” Stone asked incredulously, and I felt my emotions roiling, my embarrassment now being dominated by my anger.
“You’re goddamn right, I’m serious,” I said, low and deadly. I met his eyes, pushing aside any shame, not allowing myself to feel one ounce of remorse for my actions. “That girl, fuck, she deserves to be looked after. Who’s gonna do it? Some yuppie fuck she meets at school? Some douche with shiny shoes who can’t even throw a punch?” Stone leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest as he assessed me. “That girl is perfection, and I will be dammed if I’m gonna let someone ruin that for her. I refuse to let her get hurt, Stone. And if I have to act like a goddamned stalker to do it, then so fucking what? At least she’s safe!”
I was panting by the time I was done, which wasn’t like me. Stone was the one who would fly off the handle.
He was the volcano, and I was the ice berg.
But when it came to Daphne, I had no control.
Obviously.
I sat there, staring at my best friend, waiting for his recrimination. Waiting for him to flip out and tell me what a sick fuck I was.
He finally sat forward again, a frown crossing his face before he broke and gave me a half smile.
“Well, I guess I should be glad you’ve got the tools in place to get her back, then, shouldn’t I?”
I barked out a startled laugh, our conversation over as the plane touched down and taxied down the runway.
As we disembarked, rushing down the narrow stairs as soon as they opened, I made myself box up all the emotions again. Everything in my brain narrowed down to a fine point, an arrow leading me straight to Daphne.
As Stone and I prowled across the tarmac, there were two vehicles parked near the large, open hangar. One a shiny black town car, the other a dirty Jeep. The doors of both vehicles opened as we approached.
“Frederick,” Stone greeted the man who emerged from the car, shaking his hand briskly. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course, Mr. Pennington.”
Once Stone used his name, I recognized him as the man who used to travel with Stone’s father, Harold, when he was CEO of Pennington Hotels. The man was one part chauffeur, one part bodyguard; he had been working for Harold’s ex-wife recently, if my memory served.
Making my way to the Jeep, I approached the man standing beside it, his entire bearing speaking to his time in the military. He was tall, like me, with broad shoulders encased in a black Henley, and a dark pair of jeans. He greeted me with a chin lift, his face serious behind his sunglasses.
“You Hedge?” he asked.
I nodded, extending my hand. “Silas Harrison.”
“Name’s Hawthorn. Hack said you were in need of some gear?”
