It’s her birthday, though, so all bets are off.
I swig the coffee and wait, trying to ignore the different areas of pain flaring in my body. My lip looks bigger and my bruises look darker every time I check them.
I wait. I’m starting to think I should trash this mission—the last thing Brooke needs on her birthday is me coming at her like a monster.
And then she appears, like a fucking dream, walking up the sidewalk in a plaid skirt and white shirt and jacket, glossy hair shimmering all around her shoulders. She fucking kills me.
Just walking, she kills me. I slip out of the vehicle just as she’s getting into hers. I catch the door before she closes it.
She just gapes at me. Stunned. “Stone.”
“Happy birthday, princess.” I pull out the seatbelt and tuck it around her, brushing her hip with my hand as I click it into place. Her breath is a feather on my hair. I hit the Unlock All button on her door and then shut it.
I circle around to the passenger side, holding back a wince as I get in.
Her delicate brows are furrowed. “Are you okay?” she asks softly.
“I'm okay.” And suddenly it feels true, as long as she looks at me with those pretty eyes. Brighter than the goddamn sky. They don’t seem real. She isn’t real.
Her gaze falls to my lip. “You’re not. You’re not okay.”
“You should see the other guys,” I joke.
She doesn’t seem to think that’s funny. I guess it’s not, really. Considering.
“Let’s go,” I growl.
“I have to be back. They’ll put out an alert on me. Maybe call Detective Rivera.”
Fucking Detective Rivera. “Drive.”
With shaky hands, she starts the thing up and pulls out.
I used to think heaven would be someplace alone, someplace secret. Where no one could touch me. Hurt me. Not that I would ever make it to heaven, but it was something to dream about.
But now heaven’s the rumble of the highway, the faint scent of flowers.
“You need a hospital,” she says, her voice low.
I sigh, strangely pleased by her concern. “What are they going to do that a vet can’t do?”
She glances at me sideways. Then her gaze finds the bottle of whiskey in my pocket. “Have you been drinking?”
“Only a little.”
“It’s not even noon. And you shouldn’t drink and drive.”
“That’s why you’re driving,” I tell her, even though that isn’t why. It’s because she always drives. I think guys are supposed to want to be in the driver’s seat. They think that makes them in control, but they don’t fucking know.
In the passenger seat, I can tell her to go anywhere in the world, and she’ll take us there. The Grand Canyon or the Eiffel Tower. Take us to the fucking moon.
And all the while, I get to watch. Her delicate profile. Her slender hands on the wheel.
“Where am I going?” she asks, proving my point.
“Doesn’t matter, sweetheart. It’s what happens on the way that matters.” I put my hand on her thigh, a subtle threat despite my injuries.
Tremors run through her body at my touch. Fear? Probably.
We both know I could overpower her, but I’m the only one who knows I wouldn’t. Couldn’t. I couldn’t hurt her any more than I could hurt one of my crew. They’re my family. And she’s…something else.
Something new.
She navigates to the freeway.
“Left lane,” I tell her, squeezing her thigh.
Her breath hitches, and she follows my order. “How did you know it was my birthday?”
“I know so much more than that. I know you’re getting an A in chemistry. Good job, by the way. I know what type of shampoo you use. I know what book you’re reading, the one on your ereader on your nightstand.”
That’s mostly thanks to Cruz’s tech skills. It’s crazy what you can find out from looking at someone’s email. Their Amazon order history. Her whole life is online.
She shivers beneath my touch. “That’s scary.”
“But I don’t know the most important things. The things only in your head. Like what you think about school, what you dream about when you’re alone.”
Her lips press together like she’s holding the information in by force. “You’re not supposed to know those things about me. I’m your hostage.”
“I don’t have a gun to your head.”
“You threatened my family.”
I press my head back against the seat, closing my eyes. Part of me wants to tell her not to worry, that I won’t hurt her, won’t hurt her family. The other part of me needs her to fear me. It’s the only barrier between us. The only thing keeping her safe.
She thinks it’s scary being stalked by a man like me. What if I did more than that? What if I cared about her? Loved her? I’m not sure I’m capable of that, but I know it won’t mean anything good.
“Take a left after the intersection.” I shift, trying to find a way to sit that will make my ribs stop throbbing with that weird icy heat of intense pain. “What did they get you for your birthday? Your family?”
“The new iPhone.”
“That’s all? Daddy must be slipping.”
She’s quiet a moment. “A new dress. A necklace. And a spa day with three of my friends.”
There’s a tension in her voice that wasn’t there before. In her body, too. I can feel it coursing, almost stronger than her fear. “You don’t like them.”
“The presents? No, I do. I mean, they’re beautiful. Extravagant.”
“And all for show.” It’s not hard to see what makes Mr. and Mrs. Carson tick. The huge parties and fancy clothes, all while they’re drowning in debt.
She laughs without humor. “They picked who came with me for the spa day. All daughters of his work associates. I like those girls well enough, but it’s not…”
“It’s not about you,” I finish for her. “And what would you want, if you could have anything?”
“Nothing that costs money, that’s for sure.”
“What, then?”
“Something small. Something meaningful,” she says.
The broken bird seems to burn in my pocket.
“Something that shows that they see me,” she adds.
I see you, I want to say, and then I feel like an asshole. Of course I see her. I’m fucking stalking her. Carjacking her.
I’m not the person she wants to see her.
She sighs. “I don’t even know what it would be. What would I like? It feels like there isn’t even a me, like Brooke Carson doesn’t exist. I’m a prop as much as the dress and the necklace. A networking opportunity like the spa day.”
“What about your friends?” I know she has plenty of them, far more than the ones her parents make her keep. They walk around the city in fuzzy boots and overlarge sunglasses, giggling like they don’t have a care in the world.
“They’ll probably get me something. We’re planning to go out this weekend. Maybe they’ll get me eyeshadow or a new clutch.” She shakes her head. “Chelsea will find something fun, though. You probably think I’m ridiculous. Poor little rich girl, with all the expensive gifts.”