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I knew they were trafficking people. What I didn’t expect is thewho.
“I believe you,” she says quietly, looking out the window. I wish I could read her mind. Pick up on whatever the hell’s going on in that pretty little fucked-up head of hers, but I can’t.
“Those girls . . . I recognized two of them as people that hung around in Parker’s circles. Rich girls.”
She looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“Are you saying my mother is trafficking rich kids?”
“I’m saying they’re hunting down the children of Parker’s friends.”
She falls silent.
“That would explain why they continue to torment my mother. Mila lives with her so, she’s no better off. Savannah has Prince. Bailey is all the way in New Orleans and has Charlie. And . . . someone attacked you.”
“Why would they do that?”
I shrug. “Isn’t it obvious? They know too much. Shit that could upend everything.”
“My mother wasn’t Parker’s friend—”
It dawns on us at the same time.
“Parker was one of your mother’s biggest sponsors.”
“And Michael . . .” I can feel her watching me from the corner of her eye. Honestly, I knew he was up to something and now that I know what it is, I’m wishing I had gone with my original plan of killing him when he showed up at my shop and demanded Hannah go with him. I have no doubt in my mind he was planning on taking her for himself to God only knows where. “Do you think he has anything to do with the attack?”
I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. “Little doe, I think he has everything to do with the attack.”
She lets out a shaky breath. “Why would he do that? We’ve been friends since we were kids.”
“You heard him. Your mother promised him you in exchange for tying up her loose ends. If he scared you enough . . .”
“I’d run right into his arms.”
She shakes her head, leaning back in the seat. I can tell she’s tired. I’m fucking tired. I’m also pissed off at the prospect of Michael touching her with the same hands he touched those dead girls with. Murder and rape one to go home to another?
Hannah’s too fucking good for me. I know it . . . but Michael makes me look like a fucking saint. I’ll kill him before he gets his hands on her. I’ll make it hurt.
“Is there anywhere else your sister would go?”
“No.”
“Anywhere—”
“I said,no.”
“Hannah, we have to find her, one way or the other—”
“Can we just drop it for now?” she snaps.
I want to fight with her. Fuck, I really do. I want that fire back in her eyes that was there before Michael and her mother snuffed it out. Before she saw all that shit tonight.
I want her.
So, I do the only fucking thing I know how to and reach across the center console to take her hand. She lets me slip my fingers through hers. So I do.
Is this how you do it? Comfort and romance and shit? Her hand feels small in mine, the simplest of touches feeling like electric shocks to my dick.
