4

ZEKE

“Turn on some music.”

My response is to stare straight ahead through the windshield. The way I’ve been for the past hour. I don’t even glance up at the rearview mirror, where I know I’d find Mia glaring daggers straight through me.

“Hello? Did you go deaf? Music. It’s too quiet in here.”

Again, she gets nothing from me. My hands tighten around the wheel, and I can’t help but imagine them tightening around her slender neck. It’s bad enough I spend most of my waking moments reminding myself how dangerous it would be to give in to my craving for her. Why does she have to make it so much more difficult?

Then again, maybe I should thank her. Hating her is so much easier than wanting her.

Though the level of intensity is about the same.

She mutters something under her breath. “Zeke. I know you can hear me. I’m only asking you to put some music on… please.” She whispers the last part.

“Huh? Sorry, I guess I couldn’t hear you. It’s this funny problem I have. My ears don’t pick up when people are being rude little assholes.”

“I didn’t know it made me an asshole to want music in the car while we’re on our way to school.”

“You know damn well what I mean.” I finally take the chance of looking in the mirror, and I end up wishing I hadn’t. She’s wearing a skirt just barely long enough that her father didn’t tell her to get changed the second he saw her in it.

But it was short enough for him to pull me aside. “Make sure she doesn’t wear shit like that around school.” Right. Now I’m supposed to dress her in the morning. Why not put me on diaper duty while I’m at it?

Ordinarily, back at the compound, it would have been bad enough trying to function with her looking the way she does.

Now it’s so much worse because there’s nobody nearby. Nobody looking over my shoulder, nobody to report back to the boss that I spent a little too much time eyeing up his delicious little daughter. Her long legs, so smooth and tempting. I bet she feels like silk, though I wouldn’t dare put a finger on her. I haven’t even touched her arm or her hand since that night. I don’t trust myself.

She crosses one leg over the other, and my mouth goes dry. “Excuse me, Zeke? Would it be too much trouble to turn on the radio? I think the ride would be much more enjoyable with a little music.” Her sickeningly sweet voice carries a bitter edge that’s almost enough to make me laugh. She’s got an attitude on her, but then so do I.

“I think I can arrange that.” I touch a button on the wheel, and the radio flips on. “See? You treat somebody with respect, and you get respect.”

“Who are you? Mr. Rogers?” She gives me an epic eye roll before returning her attention to her phone, scrolling mindlessly through whatever social media platform she’s on at the moment. I only chuckle, focusing back on the road.

I’ve seen pictures of the condo we’re moving into, and I can’t pretend it’s not impressive. An entire family could live there comfortably—the bedrooms are enormous. I would have killed to have a room that big when I was a little kid, crammed into what was little bigger than a closet with three cousins my grandparents were caring for along with me. Two sets of bunk beds were almost too much for the room to hold. I used to have to turn sideways to get between them.

On the surface, I’ve come a long way. And my job, while infuriating and harder than just about anything I’ve ever had to do, is a hell of a lot easier than digging ditches and walking for miles in both directions to get to a factory, both of which my grandfather did when he was my age. It’s something my dad always liked to remind me of whenever I would complain the way kids sometimes do. But that was before he started working for the boss—before our lives changed. Before I got pulled out of my grandparents’ house and into the Morelli family, too.

I don’t dig ditches, but I’ve dug more than a few holes, which I later filled with what was left of the people I was assigned to eliminate. I can’t help but wonder what my granddad would think of that.

“Can you change the station? Something a little less boring?”

I look at her in the mirror. “This is classic shit.”

“Classic?” Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “That’s just another word for ancient. Music from, like, the eighties.”

I know she’s doing this to fuck with me. I know she listens to stuff from so-called ancient times, too. She wants to start a fight, is all. “This is the stuff I was brought up on. It’s good if you give it a chance.”

“I don’t feel like giving it a chance today. Just change the damn station.” I should know better than to try to talk any kind of sense to her. We could be in a burning building, and she would bitch me out if I so much as offered to help get her to safety. All because it was coming from me.

It’s safer this way. I have to remember that. It’s better if she hates me because then she won’t throw herself at me like she did that night. How many times have I jerked off to the memory of her perfect body so close to mine? Right there for the taking. All I had to do was reach out and grab her, and that would’ve been the end of it. There would have been no way for me to stop myself once I got a hold of her. Once I knew what she felt like under my hands.

Instead, I’ve spent my nights obsessing over her. Fantasizing about what might have happened if I wasn’t so strong.

“Do you have all your classes scheduled?”

She glances up from the phone. “Why do you care?”

Is this what I have to look forward to for the next few months? “I care because it affects me. If you don’t have your shit together, your father will find a way to make that my fault.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“It didn’t have anything to do with me the day you decided to get a septum piercing, either.” Needless to say, she took the nose ring out and never put it back in.

She flinches at the memory, and I can only imagine she remembers the way her father screamed the walls down. We both heard it from him that day. “I made sure he knew that was my fault. Don’t blame me for that.”

“I still had to hear about it. I don’t think I unclenched my ass for a week after that.”

I can tell she doesn’t want to giggle, but she does anyway. “Everything is scheduled. Not like I had anything to do with it.”

I shouldn’t keep talking about this, but I can’t help it. Not when I hear a disappointed note in her voice. “You really didn’t know he was arranging for you to go to Blackthorn, huh?”

She keeps her eyes on the phone. “It doesn’t matter.”

“So you really don’t care that you didn’t get any say in where you go to school?”

Her head snaps up in time for me to catch sight of it in the mirror before focusing my attention back on the road. “What are you trying to do?”

“Huh?”

“You heard me. Are you trying to make me miserable? Save your breath, okay? I know how lucky I am. You don’t need to remind me.”

“That’s not what I was trying to do.”

“Right. Because you’ve never rubbed it in, how lucky I am. How I don’t have any room to complain about anything in my life.”

She’s got a good memory. I’ll give her that much. I have given her a lot of shit in the past when she’s being a brat and acting like it’s so painful and inconvenient having somebody devoted completely to making sure she’s safe. “I wasn’t trying to rub it in, either. And it does affect me since I’ll be following you around all over the place. Sue me for wanting to know if I was going to get to hear anything interesting.”

Her lips twitch a little like she’s trying not to smile. “It’s all pretty basic stuff, intro to this and that.”

“So long as you don’t expect me to do classwork for you.”

She finally sets down her phone. “Are you seriously going to come to my classes with me? Like, isn’t it enough to sit outside the room?”

“I don’t make the rules. I only follow them.”

“But that’s embarrassing. Isn’t it embarrassing to you?”

I don’t know if she’s deliberately trying to get under my skin or if she’s sincerely asking because she wants to know. “Why would I be embarrassed?” I finally grunt, wishing traffic would clear up so I can get moving faster again. At least then, I might have a reason to ignore her.

“I mean, having to sit through classes with me? All because somebody told you to?”

“It’s my job. Would you ask a professor if they were embarrassed because they had to stand in front of the room and teach you things? It’s what they get paid to do. Same thing for me.”

I glance her way in the mirror. “Besides, there are lots of rich kids who go to this school. I’m sure you won’t be the only one—and even if you are, they’ll be used to seeing bodyguards around. It only seems weird to you because you’re not used to it yet.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“Why are you so hell-bent on taking everything I say as an insult? No, I said it because it’s the truth. You didn’t grow up the way these kids did, so it only seems strange to you. What’s so wrong about that?”

She folds her arms, staring out the window. “You made it sound like an insult. Like you looked down on me.”

“Trust me. If I look down on you, it doesn’t have anything to do with the way you grew up.”

“So you do look down on me.”

“Jesus Christ, Mia. Can we not?” I ask through gritted teeth. “You’re giving me a fucking headache.”

“Whatever.” She huffs and turns her head toward the window with the cutest little pout on her lips.

She spends the next twenty minutes grumbling and muttering to herself, and I’m perfectly fine with letting her do that so long as it means not having to have a discussion. Just when I start feeling sorry for her a little, she finds a way to make me hate her.

She spends so much time acting like I don’t exist that it surprises me when she raises her voice. “Can we stop here at this gas station?”

“We’re only twenty minutes from campus. Can you wait?”

“No. I have to go right now. Please?” It’s the please that tips me off. She’s never this nice unless there’s something she wants. Something more serious than having to piss.

I should probably floor the gas pedal and blow right past the station, but now I’m curious. “Yeah, okay. Just don’t take too long.”

I pull in in front of the store, past the gas pumps, and park. When I open the door, prepared to follow her inside, Mia clicks her tongue. “Are you going to follow me into the restroom, too?”

“Should I?”

“That’s going to look weird to the guy behind the counter.” She looks through the window, and I see the kid working the register. He can’t be much older than her. “It’ll look like you’re, like, my pimp or something. Or my trafficker.”

I almost blurt out a laugh until I realize she’s serious. “Quit stalling and get in there. I thought you were in a hurry.”

“I’m not stalling. But I think it would look better if you hang out here.” I roll my eyes, which only makes her grunt in frustration. “Fine. Come in, stand outside the bathroom door with that look you get on your face when you’re trying to act all threatening. I’m sure it’ll look totally legit.”

“Fine, already. Just go.” It’s not worth arguing—besides, she has a point, not that I would ever admit it to her. I do have my pride.

Is this what the next four years are going to be like? Because if it is, I’m not sure I want any part of it. Fighting for every inch. I guess that’s easier than fighting to keep my hands off her. Hating her is easier than wanting what I can never, ever touch.

Since I have a minute to myself, I pull out my phone and call the boss’s direct line. “Checking in,” I report when he answers. “All’s clear. We made a pit stop at a gas station outside town.”

“Glad to hear it. Once you’re settled, check in with me again, and make sure Mia knows to keep a list of whatever she feels is missing. You have the bank card?”

“In my wallet.”

“Good. I double-checked the account this morning. There’s more than enough in there for her books and other supplies.” Yes, and he won’t let her have the card. I have to carry it. That’s a fight I’m not in the mood to have, so I haven’t broached the topic yet. It’s only a matter of time, though.

The call ends, and I turn my attention back to the inside of the station. A familiar head of dark curls is close to the front counter. I know she has cash on her—I watched her accept it from her father before we left, and she has a debit card, which won’t be working much longer—but she’s taking too long. I should’ve gone inside.

My hand’s on the door when she steps away from the counter with a plastic bag in hand, wearing a huge smile that doesn’t slip when she joins me outside.

“See? The world didn’t end. I bought you a pack of peanut butter cups. I know you love them.” She reaches into the bag and pulls them out, holding them up for my inspection.

Now I know she’s up to some shit. “You’ve gotta get better at lying if you think you have a chance of getting around me.” I don’t care how it looks. I take her by the arm and pull her to the car. “What else did you buy?”

“Get your hands off me, you asshole.” She tries to tug away, but it only results in my hand closing tighter around her bicep.

“If you insist on getting in the way of me doing my job, this is how I’m going to have to treat you.” I practically throw her into the back seat before reaching into the oversized purse that slid off her shoulder. The bit of plastic peeking out from inside turns out to be part of the packaging to a prepaid cell phone.

“Give that back. It’s mine!” She scrambles for it but is too slow. I snatch it away, drop it on the ground, and stomp on the phone while maintaining eye contact.

“You know damn well you’re not supposed to have a secret phone.” The remnants are still lying on the ground when I get behind the wheel and peel away. “Keep pulling this shit, and you won’t visit a bathroom alone for the rest of the time you’re enrolled at this fucking school.”

“Fuck you,” she spits from the back seat. “I fucking hate you.”

I shouldn’t laugh. It’s the worst, cruelest thing I could do. But I’m in a cruel sort of mood.

Which is why I meet her eyes in the mirror before smirking. “Keep telling yourself that.” Her face goes a deeper red a second before she buries her nose into her father-approved phone again. Probably trying to come up with another plot around me. I know why she wants a different phone, to evade her father’s peering and have some privacy, but she can’t. Her father would kill me, so she can keep trying, but she’s not going to win.

All I have to worry about now is how I’m going to keep hating her without her father around to remind me why I need to.

And whether it’s really, truly important, she is kept pure for her future husband…