Page 78 of Corpse Roads

Propping his shoulder against the car, he levels me with a serious stare. “No progress with the case doesn’t equate to safety. The threat is still real. Do you want to go back to where you came from?”

“N-No,” I stutter, seized by panic.

“I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, Harlow. Even if you hate me for it. I won’t see you get hurt.”

Closing the space between us, I wrap my un-plastered arm around his waist. He engulfs me in a tight embrace, and I can feel his nose buried in my hair. We stand like that forever.

It’s like being crushed against a boulder, but the way he holds me is gentle, reverent. He smells like the garden after it has rained—earthy, fresh, full of new beginnings and hope.

My forehead is pressed against the hard planes of his abdominals, and we don’t speak for several moments, holding one another. This has been happening more often, but I don’t mind.

Touching Enzo is like coming up for air, coughing and spluttering, but thankful to be alive. He makes me feel safe. Cherished. Wanted. Even with the pain and secrets dancing in his eyes.

“What’s going on?” I whisper against his t-shirt.

His muscles tense beneath my touch. “I just need you to be okay, little one. Nothing else matters.”

“I’m right here, Enzo.” Looking up into his amber eyes, I squeeze his waist tight. “Can’t you feel me?”

Enzo cups both of my cheeks in a tight, almost desperate grip. I have to fight not to pull away. It’s a vulnerable position for me, utterly trapped by his strength, but I’m not afraid.

“I can feel you,” he echoes softly. “Harlow, I…”

Waiting for him to finish, the words never come. I wait, beg, silently plead for more. I want him to touch me. Hold me. Claim every last broken piece of me.

The realisation is terrifying. I don’t know what all these confusing feelings mean. They’ve been building for a while now. From the way he looks at me… I think he feels the same way.

“We should go inside,” Enzo finishes.

Disappointment stabs me in the chest. His hands drop from my face, taking my hand instead. I’m towed along as we leave the car park, taking a cobbled street into town.

Enzo is a wall of tension next to me as clouds bubble overhead. The first spots of rain kiss my skin with cool relief, gradually picking up until the shower soaks our clothes.

“Put your sunglasses on,” he instructs.

“It’s literally raining. I’ll look more suspicious wearing them.”

“Just do it, Harlow. I’m not risking anyone spotting you, especially with those fucking reporters causing mayhem.”

Huffing, I release his hand to slide the borrowed sunglasses into place. With my long hair and beanie, I’m as anonymous as a ghost. It’s the only reason I haven’t cut it yet.

Enzo folds an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close again. I bathe in his pillar of warmth as we walk quicker to escape the rain.

“This place has the best pancake house,” he explains, guiding me down another street. “A friend of mine found it last year.”

“You don’t seem like a pancake kind of person.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Raising an eyebrow, I take in his huge shoulders and arms, the rippling muscles pulling his leather jacket tight. It’s like walking next to a grizzly bear.

People take one look at Enzo and scurry away, even his employees. They don’t see what I do. To the world, his sheer physical power is a threat. No one bothers to see what’s underneath it.

“You’ve got the whole Bruce Banner thing going on.”

“How on earth do you know that reference?”

I shrug. “Leighton likes movies. I like learning.”

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