Chapter Six #2
The suspicion in her voice doesn't go unnoticed. She’s smart. She’s been onto me from the very beginning. “The last time I saw you, you were seated at a diner’s bar top eating an omelet smothered in cheese and hot sauce, Addison. I used basic comprehension skills.”
She huffs, sitting back in her seat as she grabs some sugar and creamer to pour into her coffee. “I used basic comprehension skills.” She mocks quietly as she stirs her coffee.
My jaw ticks. “You’re such a fucking brat.”
Her eyes shift to me before she gives me a faux pout. “Oh, yeah? And what are you going to do about it?”
My fist tightens on my thigh. There’s plenty I want to do, but shouldn't. “Nothing.”
She huffs a low chuckle. “Pussy.”
Before I can stop myself, my hand shoots across the table. I collar her throat. Tight enough to get my point across, but not enough to inflict pain. Not yet.
She tenses beneath my palm, her eyes flying open as my thumb digs into her artery. Her lips part, and I see the fight leech from her in an instant.
She wants to be obedient, but not without a fucking fight.
“I suggest we keep the snarky comments to a minimum.” I threaten lowly. “You’re going to sit there and eat your breakfast. When we’re done, you're going to thank me. Do you understand?”
Her throat bobs. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m not calling you sir.”
I blink, realizing what I'm insinuating. Fucking muscle memory at its greatest. I release her, drawing my hand back before picking up my coffee cup and taking a sip. I let the bitter taste drown out everything as Addison stares at me.
“Are we just going to ignore that?” She asks.
The space between us is charged and alive with something neither of us should speak on. I’ve already fucked up today, and we have eight more hours of this. I need to chill out before I do something I’ll regret.
I ignore her question, filling the atmosphere with silence.
“Whatever,” she mutters, taking another sip of her coffee. Our food arrives shortly, and I’m so focused on getting a grip that I almost don't hear her meek ‘Thank you’ before she takes her first bite.
It seems we’re done playing twenty questions as both of us fall quiet. I miss our game, but I know that's the part of me that begs to know more about her. This is torture.
I reach across the table for the hot sauce at the same time she does. Our fingers graze, electricity sizzling between us as she yanks her hand back quickly.
“Sorry,” she apologizes.
I shake my head before offering it to her. “Take it.”
She hesitates before grabbing it and coating the top of her omelet in an ungodly amount. “Thanks.”
“Do you like spicy foods?” I ask, taking it back before doing the same.
The corner of her mouth lifts. “Yeah. It’s something I got from my dad.” Her eyes turn thoughtful, and I want to keep this going.
“What’s he like?”
She stops, blinking rapidly as if my question caught her off guard. “Um, he’s dead. He died when I was young.” She shakes herself out of it before pursing her lips. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Is it weird that I know nothing about him?” She lifts her fingers to her lip, and I know she's about to start picking at it. It’s a nervous habit of hers that I picked up on over the week of knowing her.
I reach across and lower her hand back to the table. I rest mine atop hers as they flatten over the surface. Tingles dance across my palm, and I find I can't pull away. Even if I wanted to, I can't.
Her eyes, wide with an emotion I can't place and intelligence, find mine, and it’s like the world stops.
All I can focus on is her, and I finally allow myself to soak her in.
The delicate features I've been dreaming of for weeks.
Her hair falls over her shoulder, and a stray strand shifts closer to her eyes.
If I were just to reach up, I could tuck it behind her ear—
“Rowan?” Her voice is quiet and full of trepidation.
I pull my hand back. “No. That’s not bad.”
She frowns at her plate. “What about your dad? What’s he like?”
My shoulders tense subtly, and I feel phantom pains all over my body. The bones that never set properly, the scars and burns that rest just under my clothes, and the long days of unending hunger hit me like a truck, but my trauma isn't her issue. “He’s dead too.”
Her eyes widen, and she reaches across until her hand rests atop mine. We’re so contrastingly different that it’s mesmerizing to see her thin fingers slide over my larger ones.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” I manage.
“And I’m sorry for yours—”
“Don’t.” I rush, rubbing my thumb over hers. “He wasn't a good person. His death was a celebration.”
“Oh,” she breathes. Her head dips as her voice lowers. “What did he do? If you don't mind me asking…”
You could ask for my last fucking breath, and I would give it to you.
“He was abusive,” I answer. “Please don't ask.”
Because I would tell you every gory detail until you begged me to stop.
“Okay,” she says quietly. Her fingers tap my wrist. “My mom won’t tell me anything about my dad. It’s like once he died, she forgot he existed. I know they cared for one another, but she can't just erase the memory of him.”
“Hmm, sounds like she misses him,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“It could be how she copes. We all have our own ways to grieve. Maybe she's living in a reality where he still exists, and acknowledging he’s gone would destroy that.” I shrug.
She stares at me unblinkingly. “I never thought of it that way…” She takes her hand back, and I miss the contact as she cuts into her omelet. “Sounds like she needs more therapy.”
“Don’t we all?” I mutter.
Addison smiles at her plate, and my chest warms at the sight. “You’re not so bad when you aren't angry with me.”
“You’re not so bad when you aren't being a brat.”
That earns me a chuckle. “Old habits die hard.”
We enjoy the rest of our meal in a comfortable silence. When the waitress returns with our check, I’m quick to take it before Addison can reach for her purse.
“Don’t you dare,” she seethes.
I stare her dead in the eyes as I hand my card to the waitress, who glances between us with amusement.
“You two are the cutest couple,” she muses before walking to the register.
Addison hangs her head. “I’m getting the next meal.”
I snort. “As if I would let you pay.”
“What are you? Sixty? This isn't the seventies anymore, grandpa.” She rolls her eyes.
Do men not pay for her?
Well, that changes today.
I let her gather her things before she steps out in front of me.
She waves to the waitress as I take one more look around.
A beat-up pick-up truck pulls in next to mine, and my eyes narrow.
A tall, slender man jumps down from the driver’s seat, and another from the passenger side.
The driver glances at my truck before his friend points to the diner.
The senses I developed over years of meticulous training blare an alarm. I place a hand on Addison’s shoulder, causing her to peer over at me. “What?”
“Hold on.”
She stops, frowning. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie as the glass door opens and the bell chimes. Both men walk in and peer around at the booths. I step around Addison, blocking her as I take her hand and drag her after me.
“Excuse us,” I push past them, squeezing her out the door. Only the driver acknowledges me with a nod before returning to his scouting.
His friend walks up to the counter, catching the waitress’s attention. “Good mornin’, beautiful. We have some questions…”
The door closes behind us, and I push Addison in the direction of my truck.
“What the fuck has gotten into you?” She pulls away from me before yanking the passenger door open.
I slide into the driver's seat and start the vehicle just as I see the waitress pointing at us. Both men whip around as I rev the engine and pull out of the parking lot. I catch their license plate on the way out, cursing when I notice ‘Texas’ plastered across the top of it.
They must have been following Addison.
“What the fuck?!” She shouts as she’s tossed around in the seat. In my hurry, she didn't have time to put on her seatbelt.
I reach across her and pull it over her lap before buckling it. “Have you noticed anything over the last few days?”
“What?” She swats my hands away.
“Have you noticed anything? Vehicles that seem to take the same routes as you? Maybe you’ve bumped into someone more than once?” I ask, my eyes flicking to the rear-view mirror. When I notice that she’s quiet, I glance over to see her staring me down.
“Yeah. One person.”
“Other than me.” I bite.
She throws her hands up. “I don't know! I haven't noticed anything. What’s going on?”
“Just sit back and do as I say,” I growl when I see the truck peel out of the parking lot after us.
Addison whips around toward the back glass, her face falling. “Are they following us?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes widen as the color drains from her cheeks. “Why?”
Because my siblings are idiots.
“Sit back!” I bark, hitting the accelerator. She’s thrown back in the seat as we barrel down the highway.