Hideaway (Devil's Night 2)

“But growing up, she, too, was very different.” I steered the car around a soft right turn. “When we’re young, we are who we are out of necessity—we are who we’re taught to be. With freedom, though, comes the liberty to broaden our horizons. When we only have ourselves to answer to,” I said and glanced at her again. “You haven’t gotten that freedom yet, have you? Why? Do people hurt you if you step out of line? Does Gabriel hurt you when you misbehave or speak out of turn? Did Damon hurt you?” I kept prodding, hoping I’d exhaust her.

She drew in a hard breath and faced the front again, clearing her throat. “You and Michael can start by curbing Will’s destructive habits. They’ve gotten worse since Damon left,” she said, ignoring all my questions. “He’s depressed. You need to give him something to do. Lots of things, actually, so he has no time to think. Give him a purpose.”

I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t annoyed she’d changed the subject back to her discussion with Michael. She was talking, after all.

I thought about what she said. Will was hardly ever sober and that made him weak and an easy target. Maybe she was right. After all, I was functioning better than Will, and maybe it was just due to the fact that I kept really busy, so I didn’t dwell on the past.

The car grew quiet again, and I caught sight of her hands, running up and down her thighs once more. I reached up and turned on the heat—low level—just in case she was cold.

The glow from the dash cast just enough light to make out her jaw, her nose, and a strip of the skin on her neck. I squeezed the wheel again, my body charged with new energy. Too much pent-up energy.

It had been a while since I’d been with anyone.

Maybe I should let you hunt me, too.

I blinked, trying to derail the heat coursing through me. She had too much of my interest, and I didn’t need the distraction. There were other women to play with. Hell, Alex had given me her card like fifteen times. She was ready to go if I ever decided I wanted her.

A small sound broke the silence, and I realized it was Banks. Her stomach had growled. I glanced at the clock on the dash, seeing it was after eleven.

“When was the last time you ate?” I asked her.

But she didn’t answer.

“I’ve never seen you eat, actually.” I kept glancing at the road but back to her, too.

“I think everyone could say the same for you.”

True. I kept strange hours, so I did things at my own pace.

But I couldn’t ignore the dull ache in my own stomach, either. After meetings earlier, I’d been busy with payroll and making calls. I’d forgotten to eat.

“You’re right,” I said, swerving to catch the fork in the road. “And I’m starved. What do you like to eat?”

“I’d like to go home.”

Yeah. I’m sure you would.

“No problem,” I replied.

“I meant my home,” she bit out a half hour later, annoyed.

I laughed under my breath, walking past her as she stayed rooted next to a wall in my parents’ dining room.

Instead of taking her back to Gabriel’s, I’d brought her to my house. Or my parents’ house, anyway. My mom and dad—both upstairs sleeping and oblivious that we were down here—still lived in Thunder Bay, as did Michael and Will’s parents, and of course, Damon’s father.

I carried plates to the long, wooden table, shining with the soft light of the wrought-iron chandelier hanging above. Despite my father’s love of the traditional Japanese style of decorating, my mother won and furnished our house with lots of dark wood, carpets, paintings, and colors.

But she also aimed to please him. There were wonderful views of our property and plenty of natural light entering the house.

I set down two plates and napkin rolls with silverware.

“This is the best restaurant in town,” I told her, tossing a bottle of water to her that I’d carried under my arm. “Sit.”

But she just crossed her arms over her chest, water bottle tucked underneath, and looked away, ignoring me. “Can I leave now?”

I yanked out my chair. “I know you’re hungry.”

Her eyes drifted to the plate but quickly looked away again.