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Logan’s eyes glint black in the light while he watches Savannah step up to the back door. There’s a scowl on my sister’s face as she looks back and forth between the two of us.
I know what she’s thinking. I don’t care.
She hates that I’m here with Hannah as much as Mila did. They don’t trust her and while I understand why, I also don’t give a fuck. I’ve seen the differences between the two Gainesdaughters. I can understand wanting to save your sister from a gruesome death, even if it means putting them behind bars for the rest of their lives for the horrible shit they’ve done.
“Just know,” Logan says, eyes glinting black in the moonlight. “I’ll do what I have to. No matter the cost.” He looks at Savannah grimly. “Antonio’s men will watch your house. I’ll send you his number, in case you need anything.”
And then he walks away, pressing a kiss to Savannah’s forehead.
I can’t fault him for loving my sister—for being willing to do anything to protect her, no matter the cost. He’d put a bullet in anyone if it meant she’d be safe.
I also can’t shake the dark anger that comes with thinking about that gun being pointed at Hannah and because of that, I know I’d do the same fucking thing.
“We need to talk,” Savannah says cooly when I step up to the back door. Logan, who murmurs quietly into the phone on the other side of the kitchen, eyes us carefully.
“It can wait.” I need to find Hannah. Of course, she’s not where I left her because the girl can’t follow simple instructions.
“No,” Savannah snaps. “Right now. What were you thinking?”
“Right now, Savannah? I’m thinking you need to get the fuck out of my way.” I move to step past her, but of course, she crosses her arms, her blue eyes flaring angrily.
“Mom’s going to be hurt.”
“When is she not?”
She doesn’t like that answer, because she falls back like I’d slapped her. I take the opportunity to step into the house and leave her glaring at me in the kitchen.
Mom can be hurt. Savannah can throw a tantrum. They can tell me it’s not safe. It won’t change the fact that the one girl I’venever fucking been able to get out of my head is the one who was almost strangled to death tonight. Or that she’s directly related to one of the two people that ripped my family apart.
Anxiety-riddled tension slips down my spine as I make my way down the hall. It’s not safe here anymore, and while the thought of having her in my home makes every fucking nerve ending in my body feel like a live wire, I’ll be damned if she’s staying here.
Hannah’s bedroom door stands ajar and I step into the doorway, finding her scurrying around the room. Three suitcases sit on the bed, open with clothes strewn haphazardly inside.
My muscles feel like someone injected them with concrete. Packing in a hurry can only mean one thing.
She’s running.
She doesn’t notice me until I step up behind her and when she spins around, she collides with my chest, letting out a startled gasp. I take the small duffle bag from her hand, peering inside.
Cash. A fuck ton of it.
“Mason—” she starts, but I drop the bag on the bed and silence her by taking her chin in my hand. Her breath catches in her throat, but she doesn’t pull away when gently, I lift her chin to look at the marks on her throat.
The bruises staining her skin set my blood at a low, molten boil.
And from that moment forward, my mind’s made up.
“You aren’t running.”
She swallows hard, her breath coming out shakily when I release her chin.
“I have to,” she says, so quiet, I almost can’t hear her.
“Why?”
The thought of her leaving and never coming back pisses me off. That anger at her being gonealsopisses me off.
I don’t get attached. I’venevergotten attached. Not until her.
