Page 76 of Sweet Deception
“Troy must’ve had a small detail watching your apartment in case you came back.” Darren darts to his car, opens the passenger side door, and gently deposits Piro and me on the seat.
He hops over the hood in one fluid leap-slide and is back behind the wheel in seconds. Darren is so mesmerizing… That, or I’m way too out of it, nerves fried from shock, fear, and maybe a concussion if I hit my head. But either way, I barely notice the sharp pain in my throbbing thigh until he glances down and grimaces.
He whips us onto the street, and we hightail it out of the area, but it doesn’t seem like we’re headed back the way we came.
“We need to get you to a hospital.” Darren’s grip on the wheel tightens. His voice sounds rough and angry.
“No!” I blurt. His eyes find mine, and my heart leaps when I register tenderness folded into his harsh gaze. “I’m okay. Really. I’ll be fine. We need to get back to the safe house and meet withShane and your dad. If we’re late, they might take it the wrong way.” I’m not sure if the words tumbling from my mouth are coherent. “I don’t want you to be in any trouble.”
Darren just gawks at me, ignoring the road completely for a few seconds, before he slides a graceful hand down his face and yanks the car into a sudden, sharp right turn. “How bad does it hurt?”
“Not that bad.” The lie comes easily.
The truth—that I hate hospitals, that they remind me too much of everyone I’ve lost—would’ve been far more difficult to admit, even in a situation as wild as this.
“Open the glove compartment,” he instructs as we merge onto an interstate headed away from the city.
I find a plastic first aid kit with more supplies than I’m expecting.Gauze, needles, medical thread, antiseptic, sterilization materials… The list goes on.
My mouth opens before I can think. “You must’ve had a lot of close calls.”
“Something like that.” His voice darkens. “Clean yourself up.”
As carefully as possible, I use the medical tweezers to remove the tiny punctuation-sized bits of glass dust stuck to my thigh and the sweatpants around it. Then, I sanitize the cuts with disinfectant, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out from the burn. Once that’s done, I apply balm and bandages. Darren remains quiet, his eyes on the windshield. Piro peeks his head out of my shirt again to watch, but the little guy instinctually knows he can’t curl up on my lap right now.
After I return the first aid kit to the glove compartment, Darren reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
Was he waiting to do that all this time?
I only have a moment to wonder before the safe house driveway comes into view.
Darren races onto the property, barely slowing down enough to get past the security checkpoints along the way. Once we’ve driven through the final gate, I spot an unfamiliar car parked in front of the house.
Ominous, dark, and outfitted with black-tinted windows that are completely opaque. I bet I couldn’t see inside it even with my nose to the glass.
My heart drops down into my stomach.
Darren parks without a word about what to expect. Maybe he doesn’t know either. He skirts the hood and opens the door for me, guiding me out of the car.
I’m limping a little because of my thigh, but he steadies me as we walk toward the entrance.
I start to whisper before he opens the door. “Darren?—”
“Just let me do the talking.” His voice is rough.
Maybe he’s afraid of what’s about to happen. I sure am.
Inside, we’re greeted by two armed guards.
They’re larger than life, both thick as tree trunks and overstuffed in their black suits. Standing side by side, they completely obscure the view of the rest of the house. Their stares are so stone-cold, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were born with them.
The guards scrutinize us for a few seconds before backing up just enough to allow us into the den. I let Piro out of my shirt so he can go eat or curl up on a couch and just relax after all that craziness.
My heart’s pounding in my ears when we walk into the room, where I lay eyes on Shane Gallagher and Darren’s father for the first time.
It’s impossible not to notice Shane first. He’s tall, wide, and imposing, sucking up all the air in the room like a vacuum. His long, angular face is scarred and scowling. His slate gray eyes shine even in the harsh lighting of this homey little den. Roughstubble covers the lower half of his face, and hair that I suspect used to be red sits graying on his scalp.
He stands by the windows, hands clutching a long walking staff that I’m guessing he doesn’t need for anything other than intimidating his enemies. I’m also guessing that it works, every time, like a charm.
