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I follow the curve of the road, until my headlights illuminate the heavy iron gate standing tall at the end of my driveway, then I slow.
I saw how Savannah stared at the lake when I turned us away from it. And I’m sure people would think that a rich asshole, like myself, would live directly on the water. But I don’t. Because I don’t want any uncontrolled points of entry on my property. And a lake filled with drunk idiots on boats, and yuppies on paddleboards, isn’t exactly what I consider locked down tight. So instead, I have ten acres of land a mile inland. All of it fenced. And all of it watched by a team of security guards.
I see movement behind the gate, but rather than waiting for my men to confirm my identity, I tap my remote and the gates slide open.
Savannah’s hands, which had been fidgeting in her lap, get shoved back between her thighs. Her thick, jiggly thighs that I want to take a fucking nap on.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel.
I can’t be thinking about her like that. This woman is my captive, for however long it takes me to figure out what to do with her. And in order to figure out what to do with her, I need to learn more about her. And I can’t do that with her screaming in my ear, or running away from me, or trying to fling herself from my moving vehicle.
Which leaves me with limited options.
Literally limited to locking her up inside, while I think.
She leans forward, and I watch her look through the side mirror at the gates sliding back closed behind us.
“I have twenty men guarding the perimeter.”There are four men.“If you try to run for the gate, or the fence, they will shoot you.”They won’t.“So, on the off chance you find yourself at an unlocked door, don’t bother going through it.”They’ll all be locked.
The house looms ahead of us, with the windows ablaze, making it appear full of life.
Of course, it’s not. The staff would’ve all retired to their residence by now, a smaller house at the back of my property, but I like to leave some lights burning, giving off that feeling of a warm welcome when I come home. Even if it’s just a façade.
Sorta like wearing these suits. No one enjoys wearing a fucking suit. No one with biceps at least. But I wear it because it makes me look respectable. Civilized.
I’m sure Aspen would have fucking field day picking through the psychology behind my decisions. But therapy is a luxury of the innocent. And I have far too many skeletons in my closet, propping my baggage upright. So, fucked up, unfulfilled and secretly sad is how I’ll live until the day the Grim Reaper finally steps away from my side and faces me.
I slow to a stop at the base of the steps leading up to the front door.
My house is stupidly big. Way more space than one person needs. More space than a family of ten would need. But a house this size is what’s expected of me. And it’s easier to hide things in. So, it’s what I built. And money might not be able to buy happiness, but it can buy the best architects. And I hired the best to build me an oversized English Tudor-style mansion. And it looks perfect here, nestled in the manicured lawns, while the rest of the property is covered in privacy-giving trees.
I shift into park and turn off the engine. “Traditionally, this is the part when you undo your seatbelt.”
Savannah looks at me. “Why did you bring me here?”
My head tips back against the headrest. “I couldn’t just leave you there. You have to understand that.” I’m not surprised when she doesn’t reply. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it went down like this. But after what happened this afternoon…” I can’t keep the judgment out of my tone. “I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting you to show up. Usually when someone finds out their boyfriend is a cheating scumbag, it kinda kills the romance.”
Savannah straightens her spine, but she still doesn’t turn away from the window. “He wasn’t…” She shakes her head. “I went there to get my car keys.”
I think about her purse that I tossed into the back and wonder if I’ll find out she’s lying or telling the truth.
“Is––” She stops, and with the house lights framing her profile, I watch her press her trembling lips together before trying again. “Is there anything I can say, or promise, that will make you let me go?”
I give her the courtesy of pausing, as I think about her question. But I don’t know her. I don’t know if I can trust her word. I don’t know who she knows. I don’t know what her family is like, or if she has people that wouldtry tohide her from me. And it’s not like something as trivial as an NDA would do a damn thing to stop her from reporting a murder.
I’m fairly confident I could get away with it. Even if I opened the gates right now, handed her her purse and let her go, what would she do? She could call the police, tell them her boyfriend is dead and that she saw a man in his apartment. They’d go to the address, find a clean apartment––no body, nothing suspicious––and they’d leave.
She could go to her friend’s house, the woman recovering from surgery, who is certainly on lots of pain medication, and ask her to corroborate that we met. But no one can place us together at the crime scene. It’d just be ahe said, she saidsituation. Except my words would be backed by my upstanding citizen reputation, millions of dollars, and The Alliance.
So I’m fairly confident. And yet…
“No,” I tell her honestly. “There’s nothing you can say.”
It doesn’t matter that she wouldn’t succeed in taking me down, she’s seen too much already. And if the right person gets ahold of her…
I won’t let anyone use her against me. It’s as simple as that.
Well, that’s step one. I still have to decide what to do with her.
