Page 18 of The Demons We Hide

Dr. Pillard seems to understand, and his expression turns thoughtful as he lowers his clipboard to his side. “Why don’t you let me give you a ride?” he offers. “My shift is actually over and I was just returning some paperwork to the nurses’ station.”

Bless this man. If Dr. Pillard is with me, then there’s no way that the Scorpion Kings can stop me from leaving without making a fuss or scene. Nolan’s scowl deepens as he glares at the back of the doctor’s head like he wants to put a bullet in it.

“Actually, that would be really nice, thank you, Dr. Pillard.” I offer him my brightest smile—the very one that I’d perfected on Silverwood Prep’s cheerleading squad.

He smiles back, the action turning him from stodgy old doctor to passably attractive. “I’ll be right back, Miss Donovan.”

My smile doesn’t falter as he takes a step away, casting a wary glance to where Nolan and Lex stand side by side before he moves down the corridor to the nurses’ station. Nolan’s dark eyes find mine and I let my expression go back to normal.

“You’re making a big mistake, Princess.”

“So did you,” I tell him, “when you thought you could control me.”

Lex bumps forward and scowls as Gio appears in the doorway of his own hospital room. His features crease beneath the bruises. “Prep Girl, come on, don’t leave like this—Nolan’s right. There’s more you don’t know.”

My chest squeezes. I never would have thought that I’d trust him of all of them, and though I believe him when his words suggest that they’d be willing to tell me, I know that at the end of the day, he wouldn’t choose me. I gave that option to Lex and he, too, didn’t choose me. None of them would. They would choose each other. Over and over again. It’s the story of my life.

“Sorry, Playboy. I really am.”

He lurches forward and Lex turns, catching him before he can trip into the hallway.

When Dr. Pillard returns a split second later, I don’t offer them any more apologies. I simply turn and walk away.

8

JULIET

Using Dr. Pillard to escape the clutches of the Scorpion Kings is a means to an end. He’s a symbol of my old life that I latched on to in an effort to get away from the consequences of my new one. I’m aware of his scrutiny as he leads me down into the parking garage of the hospital, but I don’t offer any words to ease the awkward silence that stretches between us.

Why he’d offer to give me a ride, I’m not sure. Even when I was dating Bran, he’d hardly ever paid me any attention. The occasional greeting or respectful nod when we’d seen each other at events held by either my parents or him was the extent of our communication. Now, I’m viscerally aware of his gaze moving over me as we stride across the lot and down the aisle reserved for hospital staff until we come to a beautiful dark-gray Aston Martin.

I arch an eyebrow as he clicks a button on his key fob and the back lights flicker. It’s the kind of car that screams money, wealth, and maybe a small dick. I should know—Bran used to drive it to school sometimes. The Pillards are all fans of their fancy ass cars, and the one time I’d been given a tour of their estate, I’d seen all twelve of their personal vehicles. After going from having all the money a girl could ever need to nothing at all, I have to wonder who the hell needs that many cars.

“I was so sorry to hear about your father,” Dr. Pillard says as he starts the vehicle and I strap my seatbelt in. “Bran told me the two of you had had a falling out before it all happened.”

A falling out?I grit my teeth. More like a falling in—as in, he fell into my now ex-best friend’s pussy. “Don’t worry about it, Dr. Pillard,” I say. “Everything’s worked out so far.”

“Oh please, Juliet,” he says as he backs out of the space. “Call me Charles, or better yet, you can call me Chuck. It’s what my wife calls me.”Who the fuck wants to actually be called Chuck? Chuck is a verb, used for sayings like “I chucked a grenade at my asshat ex’s car” or “I upCHUCKed all over my ex-best friend’s Jimmy Choos.” Chuck is not a fucking name.

“Erm … okay, uh, I should probably tell you where you can drop me off,” I say, withdrawing my cell from my bra. As the loose t-shirt gapes open, Dr. Pillard’s eyes shoot to my chest and I stiffen.

Ahhhh. That’s why he offered to give me a ride.I blow out a breath. Men are all the same, it seems, no matter the age. Rolling my eyes, I check my messages and am relieved to find that Roquel messaged me back from when I’d sent the initial request. I text her to let her know that I’ll be there soon.

Dr. Pillard—Chuck—pulls out of the parking lot of the hospital. “Are you not staying with Morpheus?” he asks.

I slide farther down in my seat. Of course, he’d assume that. No one else would try to strike out on their own when their family loses their entire fortune. Just me.

“Actually, I’m staying with a friend of mine,” I lie. I give him Roquel’s address, and he hums in the back of his throat.

“That’s not a very safe part of town,” he comments. Considering that his eyes keep flicking to my chest as he drives, I don’t put much value in his tone of concern.

“Safety is an illusion,” I reply. I don’t know what makes me say the words and to him of all people, but I find that as the statement leaves my lips, I fully believe it. Safetyisan illusion.

I thought I was safe in my parents’ home. I thought I had it all figured out. I was Queen of Silverwood Prep. Captain of the Cheer Squad. I had a boyfriend that fit the right image of a millionaire’s daughter. I had the right clothes. The right hair. The right everything to make me believe that I wassafe.

None of it was real.

After all, here I am sitting in a car that costs more than most people’s houses with a doctor that has a sterling reputation, and I know the truth—I’m not fucking safe.

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