Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
ANTON
I’m in the hotel parking lot when the call comes in, Thora’s name flashing across the screen.
I answer it immediately, and at first, all I hear is silence. Then a small sniffle comes through the line, and my grip snaps so hard around the phone, I’m surprised the screen doesn’t crack.
“Thora? What happened?”
Nothing but another shaky breath.
The car is already starting beneath me as I shift into drive and cut out of the parking space with the tires screeching. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” Her voice cracks around the word, and whatever relief I should feel doesn’t come because she sounds awful.
“What’s wrong?”
“I-I didn’t know who else to call.”
My hand constricts around the wheel, car gunning down the highway. “Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”
“What do you mean, you’ll come get me?” A faint hitch breaks her breathing. “Aren’t you back home?”
“No.” The light ahead changes, and I take a sharp turn, ignoring the horn that goes off in front of me. “Where are you?”
“I don’t know.” The words fracture, cutting straight through me. “I’m just driving. I don’t even know where I’m going.”
“Pull over somewhere public. A shopping center or gas station. Then stay in the car and tell me the address.”
Silence stretches between us while she fights back tears, and my fingers dig into the steering wheel. I don’t know who did this to her yet, but I will, and they’re not going to be alive when I’m finished.
“There’s a shopping center,” she finally says. “I’m pulling in.”
“Park in the front and lock your doors.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me the name.”
She reads it off a sign, and the second I have the address, I cut across two lanes and head toward her.
“I’m coming. I’m not far.”
“I’m sorry.” The words slip out so small, I almost don’t hear them. “I didn’t mean to call you like this.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Just wait for me. I have you.”
That only makes her cry more.
“I’m not hanging up.”
“Okay.”
“When I get there, you’re going to tell me what happened.” I weave through traffic with one eye on the road and the other on the navigation. “And then I’m going to fix it.”
A wet laugh escapes her. “You can’t fix this.”
“I can try.”
“No one can fix this, Anton.”
That sets my nerves on edge.
Chto s ney stalo? What happened to her?
“Stay on the phone,” I tell her. “I’m almost there.”
The shopping center comes into view a few minutes later, and I spot her car near the edge of the lot, the same one she drove to the gala. One of her father’s vehicles.
“I see you.”
Her head snaps up, and the phone slips from her fingers. By the time I park, she’s already running toward me, her eyes red-rimmed and her cheeks streaked with tears.
I barely make it out of the car before she throws herself into my arms, buries her face against my chest, and clutches fistfuls of my shirt.
My arms hesitate around her, unfamiliar with what she needs from me, but then I draw her close and hold on tight.
Her body shakes against mine, and the pain of feeling her come apart in my arms is unbearable.
Is this what it means to care for someone?
Do I care for her?
The harder she trembles, the louder the rage pounds through me until it no longer matters what I call this. All I know is whoever hurt her is going to answer to me.
“How about we go back to my hotel?” I cup the back of her head. “We can talk, or you can say nothing and lie in bed all day if that’s what you want.”
A small, shaky laugh leaves her, muffled against my shirt. “That actually doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
She nods, but she doesn’t move right away, and I don’t make her because I’m perfectly content being needed however she wants me.
“We’ll use your car,” I tell her. “I’ll come back for mine.”
When she loosens her grip, we return to the vehicle.
I open the passenger door and wait until she’s seated with her seat belt fastened before closing it and rounding the hood.
The second I settle behind the wheel, my gaze finds her again.
She’s staring out the window, tears still sliding silently down her face while I sit here, completely useless.
I don’t like it. It bothers me too much. I would rather get punched in the face a dozen times than see her like this.
Once we get to the hotel, I help her out of the car, hand clasped with hers as we ride up the elevator and enter the penthouse suite. She slides out of her shoes and lies back against the blanket, staring up at the ceiling without saying anything for a while.
When I sit on the edge beside her, she finally looks at me. “I’m not actually a Whitlock.”
“What?”
Of course she is. Who else would she be?
She lets out an exhausted sigh. “They kidnapped me.”
My fingers cinch around the edge of the mattress. She needs to start explaining before I go on a Whitlock rampage.
“Start from the beginning.”
It takes her a while to find the words, but once she does, it all pours out of her, and all I can do is listen.
Holy shit. And I thought my family was crazy.
“That’s a lot,” I say.
She wipes under one eye and sits up. “I’m so glad you said that, because they made me feel like I was overreacting.”
“You’re not. I think you’re not reacting enough. In fact, I can react for you. With my gun.”
“Um…maybe don’t?” Her nose scrunches up in a damn cute way.
“You sure? Because I can make it as painless or painful as you’d like.”
“I mean, I’m pissed. I just don’t know if I’m homicidal-level pissed, stub-a-toe pissed, or somewhere in between. I need some more time to think.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “I’ll be here. So will my gun.”
“That’s very reassuring.” Her grin widens. “Thank you.”
I lift my hand to her face and brush away her tears with a gentleness I never knew I possessed. Her eyes drift shut at my touch, and an unfamiliar ache spreads behind my ribs as I lean down and press my lips to her forehead.
“Tell me what you need.”
“I don’t even know.” Her fingers wrap around my wrist, eyes meeting mine. “I wish I knew who my family was. If I had more. If anyone ever thought about me after I disappeared. I know nothing except my parents’ names, and even those don’t feel real.”
“If you want, I can look them up. Find the address where you lived. We can also see if anyone remembers them or you from back then.” My thumb continues to brush along her cheek.
“Really?” Her brows jump. “You’d do that for me?”
“Of course. Whatever you need.”
Her fingers slide from my wrist and weave through mine, her gaze fixed on the connection as though she sees something I don’t.
“Thanks for being here for me.” She raises my knuckles to her lips and kisses them, sending a sharp rush through me.
I don’t say anything. I’m not even sure how to respond. So I hold her hand instead, vowing to find every single way I can help her.