Once we got on the road, his Tesla gliding smoothly around corners, I realized he lived only a few streets away from me. I ducked lower in the seat and sighed. I’d have to drive forty minutes to get my damn car, only to come back to essentially the same place.
He was silent until we hit the freeway, then he reached over and turned on the stereo. Metallica blasted out of the speakers, and I cried out at the pounding in my head, clapping my hands over my ears. He turned it down. I glared at him and turned it off.
“No music. Just . . . no anything. God, I wish the sun would fuck off.” I covered my eyes with my elbow and groaned. It was a chilly winter day, but the California sun was shining as brightly as ever. Dick.
Hendrix’s cinnamon scent hitting the back of my nose made me crack an eye open. He’d leaned over to open the glove box and was pulling out a pair of Ray-Bans, which he handed to me. They were super dark, and I jammed them over my eyes immediately.
I looked over and studied him from behind the anonymity of the shades. Once again, he’d done something thoughtful without being asked.
Who the fuck are you, Hendrix Hawthorn?
I pushed the thought away as soon as I could. He’d already thrown me off-balance. I needed less Hendrix in my life, not more. What I needed more of was control.
As I studied his profile—the slight kink in his nose, the way his jaw tensed and relaxed as he chewed his gum, the corded muscle in his forearm as he gripped the steering wheel—I realized I still hadn’t thanked him. I may have decided to keep him out of my life and my thoughts, but he had saved me from something I could hardly think about without feeling as if I might vomit.
I may have been a bitch, but I gave credit where it was due.
I cleared my throat and sat up a little straighter. “Hendrix?”
He hummed in response, keeping his eyes on the road.
“About last night . . .”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He shifted in his seat, but before he could speak, I rushed on. “I know you don’t like me, and I don’t like you, so what you did for me last night—it means a lot. You could’ve just walked away. I wouldn’t have blamed you. I got myself into that position. But you didn’t. You could’ve been putting yourself in danger by doing that. Anyway, I’m rambling. Point is, I know it was no small thing, you stepping in and stopping them from . . .” I had to swallow and take a breath, but I made myself say it. “. . . from taking me. Maybe raping and killing me. You may very well have saved my life, and I’m grateful.”
He was silent for a bit longer.
“You didn’t,” he finally said, and I frowned in confusion. “What you said about putting yourself in that position—don’t blame yourself. I mean, going to Davey’s is stupid and dangerous, but it is not your fault that those skid marks decided to drug you and hurt you. That’s on them.”
“I’m not victim blaming myself, you jerk. I know it wasn’t my fault. I’m trying to thank you.”
“Fine. Good. You’re welcome.” His hand tightened on the steering wheel, and he chewed his gum a little faster.
I stared out the window, wondering briefly if it was even safe for me to be driving yet. But I was feeling better after the shower.
It wasn’t long before we were pulling into the empty parking lot of Davey’s. Miraculously, my white BMW was still there and not stripped for parts, despite how out of place it looked among the cracked concrete and chain-link fencing.
“Donna.” Hendrix’s serious tone made me pause as I unfastened my seat belt.
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to stop going? After last night . . .”
I bristled and took Hendrix’s sunglasses off so I could narrow my eyes at him properly. The thought had crossed my mind. Was the sense of freedom, the brief escape that Davey’s provided, worth the risk? Shit had gotten pretty real the night before. But who the fuck did he think he was to assume he could ask me that?
“I don’t know,” I gritted out, reminding myself he’d done me a solid and I should cut him at least a little slack. “But that’s not really any of your concern, is it?”
“Jesus.” He rolled his eyes. “Why do you have to be so fucking defensive all the time? I’m just trying to look out for you.”
“Why? Why do you give a shit? I’m nothing to you. We’re nothing. I appreciate what you did last night, I really do, but that doesn’t give you an automatic right to have an opinion regarding my life.”
I got out of the car, my purse and heels clutched to my chest, not even caring that I was barefoot in a parking lot probably covered in needles.
“Thanks for the ride.” I tried to say it in a neutral tone, but I was so riled up and raw from everything that it came out sounding sarcastic. Frustrated with myself, and the entire situation, I slammed the door shut.
His tires threw up dirt and gravel as he peeled out of the parking lot and disappeared.
Good. I didn’t need anyone else trying to control my life. I had enough of that from society, from my parents, from my own damn self.
I hobbled to my car, scrambled into it quickly, and locked the doors. It felt as if someone was watching me. I knew it was just paranoia, but it still made my heart hammer in my chest and my hands shake a little as I reached for the ignition.
I’d wanted a thrill when I started coming to Davey’s, an adrenaline rush. But I never wanted this.
Chapter Seventeen
Hendrix
I drove straight home, grinding my teeth and intentionally speeding—something I hadn’t done since I’d left New York. I knew it was stupid, reckless, could send me right back there. But nothing else seemed to ease this infuriating pressure in my head, the incessant need to do something thrumming through my body.
I’d stuck exactly to the limit on the way there, unwilling to put Donna in any unnecessary danger—she did that plenty herself. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t also to get more time with her.
She smelled like my shampoo, and her delicate, warm body was so close, drowning me in her scent mixed with mine. I wanted to pull over at least six times and just hold her, but I resisted. She would’ve kneed me in the balls and taken off with my car, and I wouldn’t have blamed her. Not after what she’d just gone through.
That girl was spiraling. I didn’t really know what her deal was, hadn’t figured her out completely yet, but she’d been sloppy. Donna Mead was many things, but she was not sloppy. It had been desperation driving her, and she’d let her guard down.
Was it me? Maybe my presence had distracted her. No, fuck that! I wasn’t about to blame myself for some despicable shit a couple of lowlifes pulled.
I just wanted her to stop going there before she got raped, murdered, or kidnapped into human trafficking. I’d carried her lifeless body out of there the night before. Excuse me for being concerned.
But no, all she saw was me sticking my nose into her business. God, she was fucking infuriating. Least of all because I wanted to not care. I wanted to call her a bitch, say I didn’t give a shit what she did with her life, and actually mean it.
Lost in my rage-filled thoughts, I nearly shot past Aunt Hannah’s house before slamming on the brakes and skidding to a stop.