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"Oh, you're going to be fun, aren't you?" His smile widens, his gray eyes lighting up.
I wriggle in his grip, trying to get him to let me go. He tugs me closer to his body instead.
"My name is Cormac," he rumbles, his voice like the purr of an engine. I like it far too much. "My friends call me Giant, but you'll call me Cormac."
"I think I'll go with Tiny," I mutter and then frown at him. "If you're as annoying as the other one, we're going to have problems, Tiny. I don't take orders, especially from strange men." My dad didn't raise me to be silent and follow along blindly. I'm opinionated, and I talk back.
Which is exactly how I ended up in this situation in the first place. But I'm not ready to think about that yet. If I do, I might cry. And I don't want to cry in front of this man. I'll do that when I'm alone later, and the pillow can soak up the evidence of my tears.
"I've got two rules, Mischief," Cormac says, completely ignoring me. "Don't put yourself in danger. And don't let another man put his hands on you. If you follow those rules, you and I are going to get along just fine. You break my rules, and I'll have you bent over my knee, pleading for mercy."
"You did not just say that," I gasp, shock running through me in a current.
"Said it. Meant it. Would say it again."
"So you're worse than the other one." An incredulous, hysterical laugh escapes before I can stop it. "Oh my God. This is not supposed to be my life. I don't even understand how this is my life right now. How is it that I witness a murder and end up a prisoner to a crazy giant while the men who did the crime run free?"
Cormac clamps a hand gently over my mouth. "Shh, Mischief," he says, his voice oddly soft. His expression matches. "You can rant and rave all you want when we get you home, but for now, we need you to be just another traveler. That's how we keep you safe."
I open my mouth to argue, and then Bellamy's lifeless eyes flash through my mind. The smell of blood bubbles to the surface of my memories, followed by the way the two shots echoed throughout the parking garage. They were so loud. So damn loud.
The desire to argue vanishes in a sickening lurch.
I drop my gaze with a defeated, weary nod.
Cormac carefully peels his hand away from my lips, leaving behind a tingle.
"Do you have any bags, Bella?"
I shake my head. "Just my backpack. Callum said I couldn't bring anything else."
"Safety precaution," Cormac says. "Checked bags can be tracked. We'll get you anything else you need once we get where we're going."
"And where is that, exactly?"
"No one told you?" His eyes widen.
"We were on a need-to-know basis," I say. "They didn't think I needed to know."
"Jesus Christ," he mutters. "No wonder you're pissed."
I stare at him levelly, not confirming nor denying his assessment. The truth is, I'm not angry anymore. I'm disappointed. My dad flipped his lid when the police showed up at his door to explain what happened. He's been in papa bear mode ever since. Not even my mom has been able to talk him down. I know he loves me, and he's only trying to keep me safe, but he's gone overboard this time. Way, way overboard.
And we both know he did it because he's worried that I'll do something to get myself hurt, not because he's afraid he can't protect me at home. He doesn't trust me to know my own limits. In his eyes, I'll always be the rash little girl who acts before she thinks. I'll never be an adult, not really. But I'm not telling that to a man I met five minutes ago, either.
Strangers know far too much about my family as it is, thanks to my biological mom, Marion. When my sister and I were little, she went to prison for embezzling millions of dollars from my uncle and various other Fortune 500 companies. She tried to pin it on my dad because she hated that he loved us. We were big news in Tennessee for a long time because of it.
Growing up with the whole world knowing your mom tried to send your dad to prison because she hates you isn't easy. It's partly why my dad is so overprotective. Luckily, our stepmom, Jenna, is nothing like our biological mom. Jenna is a real mom. She loves me and my twin, Isla, unconditionally. There's nothing she wouldn't do for us.
Marion was released from prison a few years ago. She still tries to keep in touch with us. Isla sees her every so often, but I said everything I needed to say to her a couple of years ago. She didn't want us when we were little. She tried to destroy our dad because he loved us. As far as I'm concerned, she isn't a mom to me. She's a stranger. I don't wish her any ill will, but I don't want to know her either.
"Here," Cormac says, hooking two fingers through the loop on my backpack. "Let me carry this for you, Mischief."
"I told you that's not my name, Tiny."
"Callum is former Special Forces. The man can track a goddamn terrorist through the desert with nothing but a ball of string and a speedo. You slipped out of his custody five minutes after you touched down," he rumbles, deftly stripping my backpack off my arms and out of my control. His gray eyes meet mine, glinting with humor. "Believe me. You're nothing but mischief."
"A ball of string and a speedo?" I blink, not sure if he's kidding or not. Why did he need a speedo? No wonder Callum is so cranky, though. He's former military. He probably has better things to do than spend fifteen hours bouncing through every airport in the south. It still doesn't excuse him from staring at my ass.
