Maybe the little girl isn’t as hopeless as I presumed.
A woman automatically steps into her view, Kincaid taking a step back as she takes over.
“Hi. My name is Brynn. What’s your name?”
The little girl shakes her head, refusing to answer.
“Has this man hurt you?” Brynn asks her, pointing toward me.
The girl looks to me as if deciding how to answer before looking back at Brynn and shaking her head.
“Do you feel safe with him?”
She doesn’t hesitate to shake her head once again.
Smart fucking kid.
“I’d like you to come inside with me,” Brynn says.
Taking inventory of the situation she’s in, the little girl once again looks all around, refusing to budge from her position in the backseat.
Nearly a dozen scary dudes are standing around the truck.
As if receiving some sort of silent command, the guys disperse, Kincaid included.
I’m left standing there because I refuse to let some little kid dictate what I do. Besides, I can’t leave until she gets out of my fucking truck, and I’ll be damned if I go hide in the shadows with members of Cerberus. It’s likely I’d never make it out alive.
Time ticks by, seconds turning into long minutes, before Brynn is able to convince the little girl that she’s going to be safe, and no one will ever hurt her again. Lies I’m certain, but, shit, whatever it takes.
When the girl slides out, Brynn lifts her and holds her against her chest before walking away without a word.
“Good fucking riddance,” I say, closing the back door and making my way around to the driver’s side.
Before I can put the damn thing into gear, the passenger door opens.
Lauren locks eyes with me, a split second of indecision on her face, before she tosses a small duffel into the back and climbs inside.
I take ten breaths before I’m able to drive off, fighting the urge to wrap my hands around her throat instead.
Chapter 6
Lauren
“You’re alive,” I whisper, feeling like an idiot for stating the obvious.
He doesn’t turn his head in my direction.
That bad vibe, the one I tried to locate but couldn’t find in the Cerberus men, is radiating off him in waves.
It’s what made me pause before climbing into his truck.
I can’t count his silence as acceptance of me being here though.
From the curl of his lip and the way his right eyebrow keeps twitching, it’s obvious he’s not happy to see me. It’s more likely he’s driving just far enough away to slit my throat and roll my body out onto the frozen ground.
I wouldn’t use the word happy to describe the way I feel about seeing him either.
I could speak of the guilt I feel for what happened to him in El Salvador… his dying that is, but it wouldn’t solve anything.