That bastard!
All right.
I was done.
I shoved Tank to the side, which meant he moved maybe two inches, and I made my appearance, jamming my hands on my hips. “Had I known the devil was coming to pick me up, I would have put on some garlic instead of my pearls.”
In one fluid movement, Ash jerked off his sunglasses and stared down at me in confusion, and then squinted harder, taking in my black leggings, black combat boots, and cream sweater. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”
I shoved both hands against his chest, sending him stumbling backward, then yanked off my sunglasses. “Apparently, your new Sunday school teacher. Spoiler alert, you’re going to hell!”
His eyes widened as he eyed me up and down and then seemed to realize it looked like he was checking me out and quickly looked away, jaw clenched, anger back.
Was it always going to be like this?
My heart was already so wounded at this point, right along with my pride, they were getting wheeled toward the emergency room as if the year of healing hadn’t even happened.
“Take me home, Tank.” I was suddenly exhausted as I tried sidestepping Ash, only to have his arm jerk out and grab my wrist. “Let me go!”
“No,” he snapped, his fingers digging into me, reminding me of that night, of my mistake and gross mistrust. “I promised my dad I’d pick you up, ergo, you get your ass in my car, not his truck.”
Tank lunged for him only to have Ash hold up his hand like he was God. I hated that it stopped Tank in his tracks. Hated it.
“Remember who you serve, Tank,” Ash said in a cocky tone that basically meant Tank’s hands were tied even though I was convinced he wanted to cheerfully strangle Ash.
According to their stupid mafia rules, Ash was basically Tank’s boss. Nobody crossed him, least of all someone who hadn’t even been given the title of captain yet. Though he deserved it, I knew why they waited; they wanted to make sure they could trust him.
Which meant right now?
I would have to get in that stupid Tesla and try not to cry.
Because if I cried, he’d make fun of me.
He’d ask me why I was crying again.
And I wasn’t sure I could handle Ash making fun of me ever again.
It was already hard enough breathing around him, let alone having to listen to the poison that fell from his mouth.
I straightened my shoulders. “It’s fine, Tank; I’m a big girl.” I jerked my head toward Ash. “Get my bag.”
“No please?”
“Nope.” I popped the P then smiled sweetly. “You don’t deserve manners; why would I even waste words on you at this point?”
He scoffed. “That’s rude.”
I snorted. “Coming from you, I think that’s almost a compliment.”
Tank opened the passenger side door, worry etched all over his preppy looking face. He was almost too All-American, too pure to look the part, but I knew his secrets.
What he’d done.
Who he’d silenced.
Such a nice ruse.
We all had them.
I guess everyone but me.
Maybe that was why Ash hated me so much.
I didn’t know how to pretend.
How to verbally spar.
How to physically fight, at least well.
I was just… me.
And it bored him to tears, made him lash out, made him angry that I didn’t try to pretend to be anyone but who I was born to be.
A girl who loved art.
Who wore cardigans so people didn’t see too much.
A girl who wore pearls because it was the only thing that was left of her dead parents.
No, Ash wouldn’t want to know those boring details.
He may discover he actually had a heart if he did.
And the last thing I needed was Ash discovering he wasn’t as scary as he thought he was.
No, he was more terrified than scared.
Terrified, of losing everything.
Tank reached for me. “Annie, text me if—”
“She’s safer with me than anyone else in this city, or do you doubt my ability to protect her?” Ash crossed his arms in a challenge as I sunk down into my seat and prayed for the apocalypse.
“Sorry, Ash.” Tank straightened. “You’re right; I’ll just check in later.”
“Do that,” Ash snapped.
He opened the driver’s side door, slammed it, then seemed pissed that the car wasn’t making enough noise as he sped out of the airport.
I gripped the door handle to keep from getting flung through the actual door as he sped in and out of traffic, his long, lean fingers bracing the steering wheel as he stared straight ahead.
“Hungry?” he asked with a gruff bark that had me jumping in my seat.
Was he still doing pills? Drinking? Should he even be driving?
“I’m fine,” I said softly.
Do. Not. Cry.
I lifted my chin a bit, remembering Aunt Sophia’s words.
He gave me major side-eye and then jerked his head back toward the road. “You’re skin and bones.”
I squeezed my eyes shut.