Page 78 of Nyx

I have a million questions for this man.

I want to know if this sort of attention is special for him and his team. If it's not, then why am I getting it? Does he know something I don't know? Is the threat level against me higher here than it was back in Kansas?

How did he end up with Cerberus, and what is his life like there?

Wanting answers to any of these questions is surprising because it's not often that I have to fight the urge to get into someone else's business. I don't want them in mine, and honestly, I don't have the time or energy to waste getting to know other people.

I ask nothing of him, despite the urge being right on the tip of my tongue.

"Just straight to work," I say.

"Straight to work, or a different path straight to work?" he asks, a small smile playing on his lips that makes him even more handsome.

I take another step back.

"Today is straight to work," I say before turning back toward my car, wanting to avoid any questions he might have about my schedule of different routes.

I know he was out here all night, but I still stoop to check under my car and look in the back seat, avoiding looking back at him before getting into my car. I don't want to see the judgment in his eyes or make him wonder if I think he wasn't doing a good job.

I crank the car, taking a moment to pull in a deep breath as the A/C kicks on. Even early mornings are sticky hot here, and I don't know that I'll ever get used to it.

I hum along to the music as the song ends, my car slowing as the green light ahead changes to yellow.

I lift my eyes, only this time I know I'm being followed, and I'm safe.

I pull in another deep breath, this one taking less effort than many have recently. It's as if some of the weight that has been sitting on my chest is lighter, but it doesn't last long.

The first beat of the song makes my palms grow sweaty. By the time the first words are sung, I'm trembling, my stomach in knots and threatening to make me sick.

I look down at the radio display, my music app clearly displayed on the screen, removing any doubt that I was somehow on a regular radio station rather than my curated playlist.

My hands shake as I stare at the screen, the possibilities of what this song playing could mean for me.

I have listened to my playlist exclusively for years because certain songs make my skin crawl.

This song, being on my playlist, means very bad things.

I scream when a knock hits my window.

I don't feel any calmer when I see it's the guy who's been purposely following me to work to make sure I'm safe, but I've never felt less safe in my life.

"Unlock the door," he demands, trying to open it but is unable to get in.

I shake my head, realizing I've been sitting here a while, when the next song, one I did add to my list, starts playing through the speakers.

Horns honk, and the sounds of people yelling out their windows as they drive around us filter in.

"Juliet," he says, his voice calm. "Unlock the door."

I pull in a breath. The weight on my chest, which I just thought was lightening, grows heavier than I've felt in a very long time. It feels impossible to breathe.

"Juliet," the man growls, but my fear has nothing to do with him.

I manage to hit the unlock button, and he doesn't hesitate to crouch low, his big body taking up all the space in the open doorway.

"It's a panic attack," he says. "Can you put the car in park, or do you want me to reach over you and do it?"

Instinctively, I grab the gear shift and place the vehicle in park, unsure of how I would react if he touched me while trying to do it.