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Good. She doesn’t pay an ounce of attention to me as he starts back down the road and I sink back into the seats. The windows are tinted, but I still feel like at any moment, one of the guards is going to sniff out my scent like a bloodhound and drag me back into the house to sit and wait some more.
I’m not a waiter.
I’m also not a runner. Not anymore.
Absentmindedly, I play with a loose thread on the bottom of my t-shirt while the driver talks about something her kid did at school to whoever’s on the line.
My stomach is in knots. This is either a really bad idea or a really bad idea.
There is no other option.
Still . . . if this concerns me, I refuse to be put on ice. Mason may care, but he’s not going to keep secrets from me.
He can’t hide anymore.
When we pull to a stop in front of the building, I tip the driver, who doesn’t even notice, and climb out in front of the dingy little house. From the outside, it looks like any other house in Compton. Still, Mason’s truck is outside and all the windows are dark, so I stride right up to the front door.
Locked.
Should have known.
“Who the fuck are you?” a voice growls behind me.
Well, shit.
Busted.
I raise my hands in surrender when the click of a gun at my back sounds in the night air.
This is the second time someone’s held a gun to my head in forty-eight hours. It’s getting quite old.
“Hannah.”
“Hannah who?”
“Mason’sHannah.”
“ID.”
Rolling my eyes at the front door, I slip my hand into my bag and hand him my wallet over my shoulder. He wastes no time checking my ID and scanning me as if I’m wearing a skin mask of therealHannah’s face.
“Inside.”
That’s what I was trying to do,I think darkly, then scold myself.
He’s just doing his job. I’m the one sneaking around in the dark like a maniac.
He pushes forward, waving his hand over a card reader next to the door that looks like one of those doorbell cameras and the door clicks, unlocking.
He opens it and pushes me inside before quietly shutting the door behind us, again.
“You aren’t supposed to be here.”
He’s a young guy, no older than his twenties and I can tell by the disgruntled look on his face, he’s not happy about my appearance.
“Would you like me to walk back home?”
His jaw tightens and he pushes me forward with a sigh.
