We continue to drive, but the quiet country lanes have slowly morphed into more residential areas. I stare at it all, unsure if I should carry on asking questions, make him stop the car so I can get out and scream, or chastise myself for the fact that all of this happened because of me and my mouth.
“Where are we going?” I mumble, still hoping for a response.
“We’ll be heading back soon. Then you’re going back on a flight to Chicago where you'll talk to Quinn after I've sorted this fuckup out. And he'll send you back to your family in one piece.”
“No. I’m not going back without you. Who said you get to make all the decisions, anyway?” The thought of facing my father so soon both infuriates and terrifies me. There’s no way I’m going back to him. Not yet.
“Your uncle did when he put you in my charge. A simple babysitting job, and within one day you’ve caused more trouble than Logan ever has.” My eyes widen, anger fuelling my blood again.
“How dare you? You don’t get to talk to me like that.”
“At the moment, I get to talk however the hell I like. You’re my responsibility. My problem.”
“Problem?”
“Yes, a fucking problem, Sofia. Do you think what happened back there is just going to go away? The cascade from this shit is fucking endless.”
“No, but…”
“How about a fucking thank you for killing those dicks and saving you, and then you can shut your goddamn mouth for ten minutes so I can think.”
His comment slices down my anger, and the world of life and death I’m suddenly neck-deep in returns to my mind. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think and—”
“That’s the trouble. You didn’t think. You're clearly nothing like your father at all.” Carter jerks the car left, and we pull into a roadside diner. There are only a few cars in the parking lot, and as I look around, I see nothing on the street but barren wasteland.
“Why are we here?” I ask, confused as to why we’re at some greasy burger place.
A long breath blows out of his mouth, his fingers finally loosening their grip on the wheel.
“Because I need something to eat, and I don’t want to be trapped in a car with you any longer. Besides, I said I’d patch you up. There’s a first aid kit in the back.” He gets out and slams the door, silencing my retort.
A minute later he’s back in the car with a green pouch in his hand. He keeps the internal light on and leans over towards me.
“Keep still and turn towards me. I need to see the damage.”
“Is it bad?”
He’s back to non-verbal communication apparently because he pulls a small bottle and a wrap of some kind from the pouch, refusing to answer, and sprays over the cut. Tiny little daggers, salt like, go to work on the mark, making my skin tingle and smart. Next, with hands more gentle than I’d have thought possible given what I’ve just witnessed from him, and his current attitude, he cleans away the blood. My eyes can’t stay away from his face, as he concentrates, and it’s the perfect distraction from the pain.
“You’ll need to put a bandage on.” He hands me the pouch.
“Can’t you…” My request dies on my lips, but it stops him from exiting the car. He twists back towards me and takes the pack back, a bland look of disinterest on his features, as he unrolls the gauze and tape. Several cuts later and he forms squares of it before placing them, like jigsaw pieces, down my chest. The gentle brush of his fingers on my skin takes all of the pain away and leaves me short of breath for an entirely different reason. It’s ridiculous. This is the part where I realise I have gone crazy—that I left my brain back in that house.
Every touch ignites my blood and it hums just below the surface of my skin. I will him to look at me, to catch my glance or to show me… something. He doesn’t. He finishes his job and removes his bloodied jacket, taking something from the pocket to slide into his pants, and then strides out of the car towards the diner, perhaps expecting me to follow. Annoyingly, I do, for a whole bunch of reasons. First, there’s no way I’m waiting alone for him in the car. Second, he’s riled me up on the journey here, choosing to answer some but not all of my questions, highlighting just how silly I’ve been, and then there’s the obvious reason—my attraction to him. Playing the hero hasn’t helped with the sparks that are set free around my body when I’m close to him. On some level, I even like the sparring between us. There’s a connection, but it's a connection that won’t go anywhere from now on, no matter how my heart pounds because of the way he makes me feel. Especially not after everything that’s happened tonight.
Walking into the diner is harder than I thought. I forgot I lost my shoes and the cuts and scrapes on my feet are only now registering. The rich smell of coffee and fast food wakes me up, though, and gives me something else to think about. My stomach growls around the sick feeling still hovering there. Carter seats himself in the booth furthest from the door in the back, close to a rear exit. I walk over and slide in opposite him. It takes him a few minutes to even acknowledge me, and I wonder if I’ve done something so bad he’ll never talk to me again.
“Hey,” I offer.
He picks up the plastic laminated menu from the stand, nodding at it rather than acknowledging me with conversation, and I notice a slight quiver in his hand.
“Are you alright?”
“Fine, Fia. We’re not here for long. We’ll head back to the hotel soon, and then you’re on the plane as soon as I can arrange it.”
“The hotel? Is it safe? I think we should reconsider where we stay and I’m not going back home.” My words run into each other before I’ve even thought through what I’m saying.
“So, you’re happy with sleeping in the car, or checking into some motel somewhere? Believe me, the hotel is the safest option. And yes, you are.” He raises his brow as if he expects me to turn my nose up.
“I might be used to having everything handed to me on a silver platter, but that doesn’t mean I always like it. Don’t worry about me.”
“Really? Because if I don’t worry about you, who will? You’re here alone with me. Your family doesn’t know you’re here. Only Quinn. I am the only person who can worry about you right now, and I’m telling you to do as I say. Why the hell you’re arguing with me about this after what you’ve just been through is a fucking mystery.”
His eyes remain locked onto mine as he emphasises his words. He’s trying to be mean, but that’s not what I hear. All I hear are the words alone with me and worry about me. I should be a quivering wreck after being kidnapped, hurt, and watching Carter kill.
I should.
For some reason, I’m not.
“I promise to go back, and believe me, I’ll be confronting my uncle and my father about what I’ve learned. But I’ll go back when we were scheduled to. Not before. You can’t dismiss me like a child. Especially not after today.”
“You’re going to confront your father?” He looks at me quizzically.
“Are you two ready to order?” Despite the late hour, the waitress is still cheery-faced and chooses this moment to halt our conversation.
“Sure. I’ll have the classic burger and fries, and a water.”
“Um, just the fries. I’ll have a strawberry shake, though.”
“Gotcha.” She walks back to put in our order.
“I wouldn’t have said you were a burger and fries type of guy, especially after ...” My words trail off as I look at the dirty table we’re sitting at, and I think about my own stomach growling for food. Thirteen men are dead that I know of, probably more, and I’m wearing a patchwork of band aids covering a knife wound as I sit here about to eat fries and a milkshake.
“What do you intend to say to your father?” My eyes rise back up slowly, and I watch Carter lean his forearms on the Formica surface.
“God, Carter. That’s a big question,” I huff, sitting back to gain some space. “A lot. I’m furious with him.”
“You really had no idea?”
I think
about how to answer because deep down, I knew something wasn’t right with everything in our world, but I didn’t suspect drugs. Dodgy business deals, yes. Terrorizing people with his power, blackmail, maybe. But drugs? “No. And right now, I hate him for it. Is he like those men who took me? Would he do that to someone else?”
Carter doesn’t answer.
I don’t dwell on the thought of my father repeating what that man did to me. “He’s laughing at everything I’ve accomplished. Or at least what I hope to.”
He frowns and leans back away from me, head shaking. “I don’t follow.” I sigh, finally beginning to feel settled with the safety of the situation now.
“My master’s program is focused on research, specifically on understanding why drugs are addictive, what happens at a neurological level to cause addiction. The aim is to synthesise a safe and controlled high, just as convincing as the hard stuff.”
Carter looks on, giving me space to continue.
“We know that brain cells react differently to synthetic substances like opioid drugs or say, fentanyl, compared to natural opioids produced by the body like endorphins.”
“Go on.” He nods.
“It’s partly why drugs are so addictive. They stimulate our receptors in a way that is faster and more effective than our own natural drugs. We’ve not been able to recreate that. Until now. This is where my education has taken me. This is what I want to be working on in my future. So to find out that my dad, and the business with my name on it, are working at the other end of this…” Salty tears coat my cheek, but I dash them away and slump back, looking out the window so I don’t have to see Carter trying to placate me.
“Here are your drinks.” The waitress delivers a tall, silver milkshake cup to me and a glass bottle of water for Carter. I don’t waste any time taking the bamboo straw to drink down the fresh, creamy mixture.
We’re quiet for a few moments, and I don’t want to look at Carter. Somehow, admitting what I’ve been working on has exposed me more than anything else I could have said to him.
“Your dad knows what your chemistry degree means? What you’re working on?” he asks after a while.
“Yeah. Maybe not the ins and outs of the research, but he knows the basic concept. It’s what earned me my spot at Columbia starting in the fall.”
“You’re smart, but did you ever think about the potential danger that developing that type of research could bring?”
“I don’t follow.” Why would my research put me in danger?
“How can you be so smart as to look at something like this, but not consider how you might upset the world markets. They still deal in drugs, Sofia. Billions of dollars every year. It's how the underbelly still trades. If you create something that is natural and provides the same effect? Market shifts. But then I guess if you did, your father would have first rights to it.”
My eyes fly up, meeting his rather than the table I was looking at. "What?"
"It'll be a healthy alternative, presumably. Worth a lot of money if handled right."
The sudden ramifications of what he's saying hit me in the guts, making me understand exactly what he means. My dad will use my research for profitable gain, building his empire further.
Our food arrives and I take a long sip of my milkshake, enjoying the sweetness, but it doesn’t take long for the bitterness to come back. At Carter’s bombshell, I’ve lost my appetite. “I’ll wait for you in the car.” I stand, fear sidling up to me and telling me to question my actions, but I can’t be held hostage again, especially not by my own feelings. I slide from my seat, just about done with all this information, and this night.
Eleven
She’s rushing out the door before I can catch a breath, but if she thinks I’m chasing her ass down again, she’s wrong. I watch her go, eyes trained on her figure as she travels across the forecourt and hurries to the car. It’s locked, and for the moment it can stay locked. We’re safe here for the time being, and if she needs a moment to deliberate what she’s seen, what she's been through, she can have it. Whatever might have happened earlier, and whatever I need to do to put that deal back into shape and cover myself, I’m glad she’s seen it all. At least she knows where she comes from now and what her father’s life is about. How the hell I’m going to explain it all to Quinn is something I haven’t worked out yet, but I will.
Danny is on the drugs for now, and he'll make sure that’s running smoothly again. I can only hope that earns me some slack if Vico finds out what else has happened. One thing that won’t be fucking happening is her father finding out that he nearly lost a tonne of money in the process of all this shit going down. If I have to, I'll replace the money from the deal myself to make sure it looks clean, and at least I'll have got her back safe if he finds out the rest.
I might stay alive that way.
My hand shakes as I keep looking at her. I need food and my shot. I’m no fucking use to anyone until I get some fuel into me. I reach into my pocket and pull out the small box, readying myself. The needle’s primed, the dose allocated, and my shirt lifted to sink the drug in before I think any more of it.
She slams her clenched fist on the car window a few times as I push the top of the pen, her other hand ratcheting the handle for entry. I laugh and pull the pen out, lifting the needle off and recapping it. Fuck that. She can stand out there and get a good feel for what vulnerability feels like for a while, balance on those bloody feet in this dirty back-end road and understand who she’s bred from.
One thing we all know about Vico is that he comes from the grit and dirt below him, regardless of the wealth that sits around him now. It’s what keeps him feared, in spite of his age. That's what makes me fearful of what I’ve just done to help her see who she is, because now I don't know what's coming for me when we get back to Chicago.
The only thing worse than the predicament I put her in would be me fucking her. And that idea is crossing my mind far too often.
I pick up my burger and take a bite, eyes still focused on her. She’s leaning on the car, long legs and arms crossed as she ponders all the information that’s running through her brain. I chuckle a little, imagining Vico and his own thoughts about what she’s researching. If she makes that kinda shit happen, the whole damn world will shift on its axis. And Vico? He’ll be at the centre of it all. Guiding it. Making the world turn whichever way he chooses. Makes me wonder if Quinn knows exactly what she’s doing with her life. Not that we have huge involvement in drugs anymore, but if it means more money, more power, then Cane will run with that whether Nate tries to pull us away or not.
And what the fuck did Anchov mean by causing problems in South America?
Fifteen minutes go by as I finish my food, and what started as a stern and irritated look on her face has slowly turned forlorn. She’s sniffing, fingers wiping under her eyes every now and then. Crying. That doesn’t help anything. I shed my last tears years ago, but I guess she deserves it for a while as she tries to make sense of what she’s discovered about her life. Certainly, after what just went down with Anchov.
A long sigh falls out of me, and I push my plate away to consider the best route forward. She doesn’t want to leave. What does she want then? More information? More time to see just what her family is? Or maybe just more time to work out how she’s going to confront her father. I wish I could be a fly on the wall for that one. Or maybe not given that I’m the one who gave her the information in the first place.
Fucking stupid.
I ask the waitress to make her milkshake and fries to go and pay the bill, unsure what the hell to do. If she wasn’t so goddamn appealing—taunting me every time I run my eyes over her, which is often—I'd push her away somehow. Send her the fuck home rather than constantly reminding myself of everything I can’t touch. But she’s not like the usual women I want to screw. When smarts started pouring from her mouth she lit up. There was a fire in her eyes, showing a glimpse of who she is, and that made her all the more appealing. Every ti
me she looks at me with those big doe eyes my blood heats, winding me up and telling me to take what’s right in front of me. I can tell she feels the same, although she’s far too innocent to do anything about it, which is a fucking godsend.
I watch her lips moving, all the time imagining them wrapped around my dick, or my own lips on hers. It is a litany of indecent images. One after another. All of them bringing her down to the grit I still linger in sometimes rather than the high-gloss veneer she’s been enjoying.
Back rooms. Dirty floors. Chains, ropes.
Screams and pleas for less. For more.
“Thank you, sir,” the waitress says, breaking me from my thoughts.
I nod and keep looking at Fia as I push out through the door. Chilled nighttime air hits me the moment I’m through it, and I frown at the thought of her being cold. She’s sitting in the dirt now, back still resting against the car and fingers trailing circles in the dust.
Good.
That’s what it feels like out here in the real world where Daddy doesn’t pay for everything. A hard dose of reality might shift her thinking a bit, make her understand what having nothing is like.
“Not getting your own way?” I question, beeping the car alarm.
She doesn’t move at all. She does sniff again, though, and for whatever reason that pisses me off. I set the takeout milkshake on the roof and walk around in front of her, eyes downcast. Pretty blue dress, cut up feet, all dusty from the dirt she’s been stamping on. There’s something real about her now. Something more honest than before.
“You gonna get up?”
“No. Screw you.”
I smirk at her attitude, and I look away to bite the inside of my cheek before I do something I shouldn’t. It would be so easy. Lift her. Kiss her. Fuck her. I could do it here, bend her over the hood and enjoy driving myself into her until I stop that mouth having any comeback at all.
“Fia, get up off the ground. I haven’t got time for your shit.”
There is a scrabble of limbs then she’s up and in my face before I know it’s happened.
Forbidden Eyes: A Cane Novel 4 Page 11
