Page 2 of Wilder's Promise
"Don't call me princess," she snaps.
"Then don't call me errand boy." I soften my tone. "Look, I know this isn't what you want. But your safety matters to your dad, which means it matters to the club. Which means it matters to me."
She stares at me for a moment, weighing her options. I can almost see the calculations behind those amber eyes: her stubborn pride versus the very real danger she's in.
"Fine," she finally says. "But I want to stop for food. The train dining car was disgusting."
I check our surroundings again. The station remains quiet, my instincts steady. "We can make that happen. Any preferences?"
The question seems to catch her off guard, like she expected an argument. "Uh... anywhere that has decent coffee and isn't fast food?"
"There's a diner about thirty minutes down the road. Good coffee, great pie." I lead her to the Charger, stowing her suitcase in the trunk before opening the passenger door.
She slides in without a word, clutching her backpack to her chest like a shield. I circle around, scanning for threats despite the quiet surroundings, before getting behind the wheel.
"Seatbelt," I say, starting the engine. She gives me a look but complies.
The Charger pulls smoothly out of the station parking lot. I take the main road this time, seeing no reason to stick to back routes when there's no immediate threat.
"So," she says after several minutes of silence, "you're one of my father's... what do you call yourselves? Brothers?"
"That's right."
"How long have you been part of his little criminal enterprise?"
I glance at her. "Is that what he calls it?"
"No. That's what the FBI calls it," she says pointedly. "I'm studying criminal forensics, remember?"
"Yeah, your dad mentioned that." I focus back on the road. "I've been with the club about a year. Only member who's actually from Pine Haven."
"And what did you do before that? Let me guess… Armed robbery? Drug running?"
I can't help the slight smile that tugs at my mouth. "Construction, actually. Still do when we need cash flow. I'm good with my hands."
She snorts. "Right. And I'm sure the club is just a social gathering for motorcycle enthusiasts."
"We do enjoy our motorcycles," I say, keeping my tone light. "But no, that's not all we are."
She turns to look out the window, arms crossed. "I can't believe he's dragging me into his mess again. I have finals in two weeks.A research paper due. Friends who are going to wonder where the hell I disappeared to."
"He wouldn't have called you back if it wasn't serious."
"With my father, everything is life or death. That's his whole world. Constant crisis, constant danger." She shakes her head. "Normal people don't live like that."
"Normal people don't save women from a sex trafficking either," I say before I can stop myself.
Her head whips around. "What did you just say?"
Shit. Reaper explicitly told me not to mention the trafficking ring. "Nothing. Forget it."
"No." Her voice is hard now, demanding. "What women? What trafficking?"
I grip the steering wheel tighter, mentally kicking myself. "That's something you should discuss with your father."
"I'm discussing it with you right now." The stubbornness in her tone is pure Reaper. "What did my father do?"
I weigh my options, deciding a partial truth is better than letting her imagination run wild. "Look, all I can tell you is that your father discovered some very bad people doing very bad things in our territory. He stepped in. Those people have friends who aren't happy about it."
