Page 84 of Wicked Heat

“Never rule out anything,” he says. “That might be key. And in about thirty-six hours, we’ll have instructions for transferring funds, which should help, too. Money has to go somewhere. And we should be able to trace it.”

“You can do that? It has to be undetectable, otherwise they’ll release the images. And Ash, I really don’t want those videos out there.”

“They won’t ever be. Not if I can help it.” He reaches over and takes my hand, then gives it a gentle squeeze. “But you’re strong, Bree. Stronger than you think. If they did get out, you’d survive. Hell, you’d do better than survive.”

I manage a wan smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but if it’s all the same to you, let’s concentrate on not letting them know we’re trying to trace anything.”

“Agreed. And I have someone in mind.”

My stomach twists at the thought of having someone else see those images, and when he squeezes my hand and whispers, “Need to know only,” I melt just a little from the simple fact that he understands me so well.

“Thanks,” I say, certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ash wouldn’t intentionally hurt me. And that means he’ll protect my secrets.

It also means I can trust him with more than he already knows. So I take a deep breath, then say, “Anne’s on my video, too.”

His head whips around, a wild fury coloring his face. I hold up a hand as I shake my head. “No, no. Not like what you saw them do to me. As far as I know, no one ever touched her.”

I go on to explain what Aria and I had seen, especially the vile image of me with Anne in the frame.

“Those fuckers,” he whispers. “I swear, I will find who—” He cuts himself off, and I watch as he forces himself back to calm. “I have your back now, baby. No one is going to hurt you like that ever again. As long as I’m drawing breath, no one is going to hurt you, period. Not you. Not Anne. And if we can help it, not anyone else, either.”

The passion and promise in his voice seems to fill the car. It certainly fills me.

At the same time, though, I squirm a little. He’s making a vow to protect me. But he only knows part of Brianna Bernstein. The part I show the world, covered and carefully cloaked to reveal only some of the flaws in the sculpture.

Granted, I’ve pulled back the cover more for him than anyone else except Aria. But what he doesn’t understand and can’t know is just how many spidery cracks run through me. Far too many to let me get truly close to anyone. Because with so many fault lines, any direct impact could shatter me. And even the pressure of a hug could make me fall apart completely.

I want to tell him. I want to believe that Ash is the glue that can ultimately hold me together.

But I say nothing. Instead, I just slip out of my shoes, pull my feet up onto the seat, and hug my knees as the desert slips by and the lights of Vegas grow brighter outside the window.

“It could be coincidental,” he says after a few more miles, “but I find it very interesting that they chose three mil.”

“Because of your company? Aria said the same thing.”

“Did she?” He takes his eyes off the road and looks at me. “What else did she say?”

“Something about an investor pulling out, and that puts you in the hole for about three mil.” I run my palms down the jacket of his I’m using as a lap blanket. “She might still think you’re behind all of this. I haven’t talked to her since—well, since before the interview with Maggie.”

I suddenly realize how fast everything has moved. The bullshit interview. The trek to the Stark mansion. And then we were on the road. I hadn’t even called Aria, just sent her a text telling her that Ash is helping me. She’d replied with a wide-eyed emoji, but nothing else.

“That’s why I was at the track,” Ash says, pulling my thoughts from Aria and back to his three-million-dollar hole.

“What do you mean?” I keep my voice calm despite the fingers of dread now creeping up my spine.

“My meeting tonight. It was with another investor. Turns out he’s not investing a dime, much less millions. I went to the track to take the edge off after getting slammed with that bit of bad news.”

He takes his eyes off the road long enough to meet mine. “Aria was right.”

My entire body goes cold. “You’re saying that you⁠—”

“Oh, hell no.” His head whips around to look at me, and I’m certain the horror I see there is genuine. “You don’t really believe that I would⁠—”

“You just said so!” I hear the edge of hysteria in my voice.

“I meant that she’s right about the deficit. But that’s my company, not me. I’ve got personal holdings. Real estate I bought when I started making money. A significant stock portfolio. And if I’m desperate, I even have a trust fund that Damien set up for me, which I swore I would never touch, and he swore I could leave untouched until Doomsday, but as his son, it was mine.”

That’s right,” I say, remembering. “He and Nikki set up a trust for all the kids. When Damien learned about you, they never even hesitated. You’re his son. You got a trust fund.”