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“If you can’t stand up and get ready, I’ll have to do it for you,” Hudson threatens, his voice sounding just like it did a few days ago when he caught me snooping. Or trying to snoop. “So, you go on and choose, Dove. This can go a lot of ways. None of which ends with you sitting here much longer though.”
Closing my eyes, I drag in a breath.
Nothing good can come out of my sassing back. Because of this family, girls like me are being forced into marriages, and it will continue. I’m here to take people like Enzo and his family—hell, even my uncle—down.
Popping my eyes open, I plaster on a fake smile and stand. I don’t miss when his eyes move down my body, taking in every inch of my red bikini before he reluctantly looks away.
“You got it,” I drawl, real sugary sweet, as I lean down and grab my towel. “Let me just hop in the shower and change, and I’ll be ready.”
“Twenty minutes,” he says from behind me as I walk toward the house.
I shouldn’t play with fire, but I can’t stop myself. There’s something about him that makes me want to push back. And the other day, when he pressed me against the wall, I watched his pupils dilate when he looked down at me.
When I get almost inside, I toss my towel into the hamper next to the door and gradually bend down, pretending like I’m brushing off my foot as I give him a perfect view of my cleavage. Peeking at him through my sunglasses, I watch his eyes drink me in before he forces his stare somewhere else.
That’s right, Hudson Hercules. I saw you look.
Due to Hudson catching me trying to break into Enzo’s office, I’ve been playing it safe. Which means my investigation has briefly been put on hold. So, the least I can do is have a little fun with the hot bodyguard, right?
Definitely.
Hudson opens the door to the salon, and I walk inside. Until I moved in with my uncle, the only haircuts I ever had were ones I gave myself at home. Or when I had Poppy—my next-door neighbor, who also grew up very poor—trim my ends. She was always so nervous that she’d screw it up, but I honestly couldn’t have cared less if she did.
Poppy was also my best friend when I was a child, even though she was closer to my brother and was clearly in love with him.
I miss her. When I left Sunset Drive to live with Beckett, I never looked back—never checked on her or her brothers, Van and Jake. Her father had supplied the drugs that killed my parents. And even though I’ve never seen that as a reason to write her off, my brother did. And since he was my only family left—well, aside from my maniac uncle and his doormat of a wife—I followed Walker’s lead and cut Poppy and her brothers off too.
“Um … Ms. James?” a pretty woman with a sleek black bob says, standing in front of me. “Did you hear me?”
I snap back to the present, giving my head a slight shake. “I, uh … I didn’t.” I glance behind me to find Hudson sitting in a chair in the waiting area before looking back at the stylist. “What did you say?”
She gives me a small, soft smile. “I see here that you are in today to have your hair lightened.” She looks my hair over. “Is that right?”
I turn to Hudson again, and even though it’s subtle, he looks annoyed.
“Tell me, Mr. Hercules, is that what I’m here for?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Reluctantly, he nods, though his embarrassment is evident. Good. I hope he feels like an ass, forcing a girl to come to the hair salon and change her hair.
Her eyes move from Hudson to me before she bobs her head up and down, seeming a bit unsure of the entire thing. “Okay, well, the good news is, you have a great base color to work with.” She reaches out, touching my hair. “Is this virgin hair?”
I frown. “I don’t—”
“Has your hair been colored before, Briar?” she clarifies, and I shake my head.
“Uh … no. Never.” I blush. “I’ve wanted to, but I just … haven’t.”
Her eyes widen, and she claps her hands a few times. “Virgin hair is my favorite type of hair to work with!” Taking my hand, she directs me to my seat and looks at me in the mirror as her hands run over my hair. “I promise, it’ll look great.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Even though I have no idea why, I feel like this girl … she gets it. And maybe she has my back.
I look at myself in the mirror, and even though it’s not as blonde as I feared it would be, it’s a change. But most of all … it’s a change I didn’t choose for myself. And that makes me hate it, even though it looks good.
It’s an improvement. Yet I’m pissed.
I fight back a sniffle, realizing that this is what my life is. What it will always be as long as I’m here. Being told what to do by a man who sells drugs and kills people is my new norm. And I wasn’t brought to Italy kicking and screaming. I signed up for this. I agreed to this. All for what? To try to play detective.
