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He stops his car, climbs out, and walks toward me. This is my chance to drive away. Even if he has Mom, what doesgoingwith him accomplish? But I can’t let him hurt her. I’ll have to find a way. Even as he gets closer, even with that dark look in his blue eyes—so bright compared with the black in his hair—I don’t believe he’d hurt me. Somehow, I have to get used to reality.
Hesaidit. What’s wrong with me?
He taps my window with his knuckle. After I lower it, he leans down and looks into my eyes deeply. He stares at me as I’ve often dreamed he would, but not with this implication. “Get in my car.”
I try to think of something to do other than obey the command, not just in his voice but in those searing eyes. It’s like his gaze is burning into me, the way he stares like he’ll happily reach in and lay his hands on me, but not how I’ve dreamed about.
“You can park up there.” He nods across the street. “On the curb.”
“On thecurb?”
“It won’t be there long.”
It’s like I’m watching myself again, or maybe that’s a way of absolving myself of responsibility. I do as he says, parking curbside and then climbing from the car. He walks over, standing close, but doesn’t touch me. It’s like I can feel the heat emanating from him.
He opens the back seat, and I climb inside. I realize we’re at the rear of the building, and the spot he’s pulling into has a small garage door. “Lena,” he says in his gruff voice.
Repressing the urge to shiver, I stay in the car. He shuts the door immediately, then walks over and opens the rear garage door with akey, not a code—a key he has in his pocket. This must be a personal entrance and exit, and we’re at the rear of the building. Are there any security cameras out here? I can’t see any.
He returns after pushing the garage door open. The whole time, I think I could run now, but the moment never comes. I can’t ignore his threat long enough to open the door. He climbs into the driver’s seat, pulls just far enough into the spot, and then climbs out.
“Wait here,” he grunts, slamming the door.
“Where is my—”Mom, but the douchebag slammed the door.
He closes the garage door and leaves me in the semidarkness of a small electric light. I open the door and look around the small space. There’s nothing except a door a few feet from the car. I try the door. It’s locked.
I pace, wringing my hands like that will bring any relief. I guess he’s getting rid of my car. No evidence. I should think of a way to hurt him when he gets back here—maybe break the glass in the car’s window, grab a shard, and cut him.
He’s opening the garage door again. This time, he pushes it just enough to slip through, then closes it behind him. He walks into the glow of the electric light. “I don’t have your mother.”
“What. Thefuck?” I don’t even think. I just throw myself at him, a stupid thing to do, in all honesty. It’s like all this pent-up pressure explodes out of me.
He moves deftly, much quicker than a man his size should be able to. He’s six-three, at least, upwards of two-thirty pounds. His muscles bulge and have crazy definition, making me want to squeeze each one. He wraps his big hands around my wrists and pushes me against the car.
He’sright there, his body pushed right up against me. When he leans down, his breath is hot. It tickles, teases, and makes me think silly things. I wonder if he kissedMomlike this. Yeah, I remind myself of that. This prick is her ex.
“I’m going to try to find Simone,” he growls, sounding more like a beast than a person. “But you need to understand something. There are bad, bad people out there, Lena. They’d cut you into tiny little pieces, keeping you alive for as long as they medically could.”
I freeze in his arms, then suddenly, insanely, want to lean against him for comfort, wishing for him to wrap his arms around me and hold me close.
“I’m only telling you this so you understand. You’re staying with me. Until I figure this out, you don’t leave my apartment.”
“People will notice. Joan, my neighbor. My employer.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he grunts. “I can handle all that, but you need to be obedient now.”
My skin tingles. No,no. This is wrong, but when he saysobedient, his voice gets husky, just like my fantasies. It’s probably not husky, per se. It’s deeper and more angry, but at least he didn’t hurt Mom unless he’s lying.
“I need answers,” I say, pushing past the strange and inappropriate feelings. “Who took Mom? What does Dad’s wallet mean? Is she…” I swallow. “Going to be okay?”
“You’ll get your answers.” His hands are still on my wrists, but it doesn’t feel like he’s pinning me there now. It’s more like he’s holding me, and I’m staying in this position purposefully.
I pull my hands away, then almost push against his chest. “I’m fine.”
“Not going to pounce again?” he says with a smirk.
It’s the smirk I remember, the one I was sure he aimed my way when picking up Mom. I turn from him. I can’t look, can’t let him play with my mind. If he figures out I’ve got a crush on him—because that’sallit can ever be—he might use it against me.
