Stolen Life (Beauty in the Stolen 2)
“Why don’t you just pay someone to fix it?”
He flashes me a smile. “I like the challenge.” Turning his attention back to the engine, he studies it some more before holding out a palm. “Hand me the pliers.”
I search the toolbox and hand him the tool.
“Thanks,” he mumbles.
He loosens a stubborn nut, removes a bolt, and hands me back the pliers. “Spanner.”
When I give it to him, he raises a brow. “You know what a spanner is? I’m impressed.”
I cross my arms. “Stop messing with me.”
“I’m not messing with you,” he says in a mock-serious tone. “The girls I know can’t tell the difference between a spanner and pliers.”
“Says a lot about the girls you know.” As in date. “I spent more time with my dad in the shed than with my mom in the kitchen.”
“Mm.” He drags a gaze over me. “The more I get to know you, the better I like you.”
Can you like someone if you’re willing to lock them up? Yes. Liking and caring aren’t the same thing. The thought makes me go quiet. Ruben’s words repeat in my head. It’s not the part about how Ian will punish betrayal that I focus on. That part, I already know. It’s the part about how eager Ruben will be to pull the trigger.
I go cold in the stuffy heat of the summer’s day. I knew from the minute Wolfe presented me with two impossible choices, I’d never be safe again. I’m no safer here than what I’ve been at home. I can’t rely on Ian to protect me. Our attraction may be off-the-charts hot, but he’s not my ally. He’s my enemy. I’m a liability.
As long as I breathe, I’ll always be a risk to Ian and his gang. I can rely on no one but myself to keep safe. In order to do that, I need ammunition. Not the kind that fires bullets, but the kind you can hold over someone’s head. I need information. I need the proof Wolfe asked me for, and I need it fast. I don’t trust anyone here, especially not Ruben. He scares me the most. Information is the only insurance that will get me out of here alive. When Ruben pushes a gun against my head, I want to have a card I can play, my own secret weapon.
“Hey, daydreamer,” Ian says. “Screwdriver. Flat tip, size two.”
I hand him the screwdriver. I’m not going to sit around and hope I’ll be okay. I’m going to make damn sure I survive.
“Need to sit down?” he asks.
“What?”
He frowns. “You look pale.”
“I’m good.”
He doesn’t seem convinced. “Want to go back to the room?”
“No,” I say quickly. I can’t gather information if I’m confined to his room.
He gives me a crooked smile. “I’ll be done soon.”
We carry on for the better part of an hour with me handing him the tools he calls out while I scheme in my head. It’s teatime when he’s done.
“Ready?” he asks, holding his finger over the start switch.
“I guess we’ll see how good an electrician you are.”
When he flips the switch, the engine stutters to life.
He shoots me a victorious grin and says over the noise, “It’s all about patience.”
Right. Exactly my thought.
Satisfied, he cuts the engine and wipes his hands on a cloth. His palms are broad and his long fingers competent. My stomach heats at the memory of those hands on my body.
He folds his fingers around mine. “We’re done here.”
“Where are we going?” I ask as he pulls me toward an awning where a Jeep is parked.
“To finish the rest of the tour.”
A man with salt-and-pepper hair who’s raking the driveway leans the rake on the wall and comes running.
“Here you go, Baba,” he says, handing Ian a key.
“This is Garai,” Ian says. “He’s the best ranger in the whole of Zimbabwe. When he’s not busy with the animals, he helps Wataida out with the upkeep of the grounds.”
Garai beams.
“Is everything ready?” Ian asks.
“Yes, Baba.”
“Good,” Ian says. “We’ll be back before dark.”
The man goes back to his rake, and Ian opens the passenger door before helping me up the step.
“Game drive?” I ask as he takes the wheel, my dark mood lifting at the prospect.
Ian only smiles and starts the engine.
He follows the gravel road to the end and turns right onto a dirt track. The wind is warm on my face. I grab my hair in a ponytail at my nape to keep the long strands from blowing in my eyes. Leaning over me, he takes a cap and a pair of sunglasses from the glove compartment and drops them in my lap.
Grateful for his consideration, I constrain my hair with the cap, pulling the ends through the back, and fit the glasses. I let my body move with the sway of the vehicle much like a sailor would go with the rocking of a boat. It comes naturally. It’ll prevent me from having a sore backside and bruised kidneys tonight.