Vengeance (Master's Protege 1)

Dusk has settled on the city, the bluish haze of late summer making everything look mysterious and ethereal. I drive toward the road that takes me home, glancing in the rearview mirror so many times I’m barely watching where I’m going on the main road.

She’s typing away on her phone, muttering to herself, taking notes, when she looks out the window and stares.

“Thinking?”

She doesn’t reply for long minutes, just picks at a cuticle on one hand. “What do they do with the body?”

This would be a shitty time for her to start crying about all this.

“Better if you don’t know, but it won’t be a problem.” A beat passes.

“Take me home now, please. I’ve never needed a shower more in my life.”

I don’t want to take her home. I want to keep her with me until we find Skylar. But I know we have research to do, and my team is on it. We have to find the person who hit us today and follow up on the contacts on Skylar’s phone, along with whoever else at the bar’s connected to the disappearances. And I’ll be worth shit if I don’t get some sleep.

“I’ll take you home, and you do all the research you can. Tomorrow, we meet with my team to compare what we’ve found and hopefully make moves. Remember what I said about packing a bag.”

“Right.”

Tugging down her top, she moves her bra to the side and pulls out the sprig of delicate white flowers. I swivel my eyes back to the road so I don’t confirm how the little sprig of flowers left an imprint on her bare breasts. I shift uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, trying to rein in my focus. She has small, perfect breasts that would fit—

Christ.

“We need to keep this in mind. Whoever’s taking them leaves flowers for them before he goes. One of those signature moves? There were flowers on the walkway to your sister’s house, and your sister was looking for the meaning of them. I found it in the search history of her phone.”

Shit.

“We don’t really have the luxury of assuming anything’s a coincidence right now.”

We don’t.

She’s quiet, looking out the window. Holding something back from me.

“What is it?”

“It’s just… well, there were flowers at work. I teach kickboxing classes to little kids, and before I left the other night, I saw some. It’s probably not related, though.”

“Is your studio near a florist or a delivery shop or a supermarket that might sell flowers?”

“No.”

“Fuck going home,” I tell her, as I turn to take the entrance to the highway. “You’ll come back to my place.” To my home, the goddamn fortress, where I’ve got my own army of trained soldiers who aren’t afraid of combat.

She draws in a breath then releases it slowly, but she doesn’t respond at first.

“I’m not giving you a choice in this. I’m—”

“Giving me a choice or I walk.” I feel my brows snap together, but before I can respond, she continues. “I appreciate your concern. But I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”

“I thought we already had this discussion this morning, and that conversation ended with me on top of you.”

Her hands clench into fists, but I don’t fucking care. My sister’s with God-knows-who, I’ve got no leads whatsoever on whatever the fuck is going on, I just put a bullet through a man’s skull, and now she thinks she has a choice in this.

“You may have noticed, Miss Price, that my entire staff resides at my house.”

“I have.” She frowns in a way that looks almost like a pout. “It’s odd and borderline cultish.”

I won’t let her get a rise out of me.

“I have my reasons. Scattering my employees and the contractors that work for me would be a terrible decision, as my necessary resources would be dispersed and weakened. I provide ample accommodations and security.”

“Right. But what you may not have noticed is that the only female in your residence is an elderly, likely married woman.”

“And the doctor.”

“Oh wow. You hired a female doctor? How modern of you.”

There’s a low rumble in the truck I don’t realize is my own damn growl at first.

“I’m not offering for you to live with me, Miss Price.” I huff out a humorless laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

She mutters something under her breath.

“What’s that?”

She doesn’t respond.

Her stomach growls, loud and clear. Now that I understand. “You’re hungry. At least come and get something to eat before you go home.”

“I’m good, thanks. I’ve got plenty of food at my house.”

“Are you hungry or not?”

“Starving, but legitimate hunger’s good for the soul. I’ll somehow make it this time.”

Stubborn. So goddamn stubborn. I don’t miss the way she sits as far away from me as she can, as if somehow forming a physical distance will keep her safe.

I try another tactic. “I prefer the people that work for me to be safe. You don’t have reliable transportation or a way to get anywhere if I need you right away. You were the one that picked up on details today we need to pursue, and I want you to report to my team directly so we can pool our resources. If anyone or anything hurts you, our entire operation is at risk.”