Page 110 of Devil's Bride

“Relax, Genevieve. I’m not taking you to sell off to the highest bidder.”

“Then why won’t you tell me where we’re going?”

He chuckled in a way that sent shivers to my toes. “Because it’s a surprise.”

“If you’re honestly thinking of forcing me into some business deal on our honeymoon, think again, buster. I’m not interested in getting to know more of your drug buddies.”

His sigh was heavy, but he said nothing in retort. The engine revved as he pulled away from the curb.

We rode in silence for several minutes.

“What business do you believe your father was in that now you own by default?” His question seemed to come from out of the blue.

“Default? My father was murdered. Did we forget about that?”

“That’s why I said default. You never wanted anything to do with your father’s world, but being born into powerful regimes doesn’t afford that luxury. But I am curious what you believe was his number one commerce.”

Now he had me sighing. I folded my arms, hating the fact I’d tried to pretend to myself what my father had been doing was legitimate. “Cocaine. I’m well aware of what his number one business opportunity has been for years. That doesn’t mean I need to like it.”

“Fair enough.”

He settled back into driving while I still had dozens of questions that I refrained from asking. I wasn’t going to get any answers. He was wired that way.

Bastard.

No matter how many times I thought or said the word, I’d yet to garner any moment of satisfaction in doing so. I don’t know what that said about Jago or about me.

Or us.

Whatever ‘us’ had become.

I sat quietly, unable to find the energy or drive to pepper him with questions or continue my tirade that only highlighted how terrified I truly was. That was the crux of everything. Fear had gripped me the night my father had been murdered and had yet to release its claws.

Terror was a fickle beast. Sometimes, I felt nothing but rage, but at night when I was by myself, I remembered just how very alone I was. That certainly wasn’t poetic, but it was the truth.

The different sound in the engine meant he was slowing down more than he had when making turns. We were still in the city. I knew that by honking horns. When he pulled to a stop, I sat up in my seat, immediately unfastening the seatbelt, but remaining tense as hell.

“Relax. This isn’t going to hurt,” he told me.

“How can I be certain of that?”

“I guess you’ll need to trust me.”

“Trust is the one thing I can’t give you.”

Jago said nothing and maybe I was overthinking things, but I sensed I’d hurt him more than I had in dumping hot coffee on him. How sad.

I was forced to allow him to help me onto the sidewalk. The sounds and smells of the city were everywhere. People talking.Vehicles flying by. There was even a siren that was close and I cringed hearing it. I’d never be able to erase the horrible sounds of them the night my father had been killed.

“Not far. Just a few steps.” He took my arm and my instinct was to jerk it free, but I resisted.

The hard pounding echoed in my ears and that also made me jump.

I felt his hand on the small of my back and I took a step forward just as I heard a different voice.

“Mr. Torres?”

“Yes.”

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