Page 108 of Brutal
Not something.
Her.
I don’t slow as we reach the exit. I push through the door and into the night, guiding her straight to my car without breaking stride.
She hesitates once, just before the passenger door. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know.”
“Then why?—”
“Get in.”
She looks at me for a second longer and then slides inside.
I walk around the car, get in the driver’s side, and start the engine.
“Where’s your driver?” she asks snidely.
“Shut up,” is all I say.
We pull away from the curb. I keep one hand on the wheel, the other braced near the center console, aware of her without looking at her.
She’s quieter now. She’s probably thinking. Knowing her, she’s already calculating her next move.
Good.
Because so am I.
Someone moved. Someone tested the boundary. Someone told her without telling her.
It didn’t end that night.
I should know.
I know something else too.
Whoever it was will never touch her again.
28
DELANEY
We reach my apartment in record time. I’m half expecting Samson to throw me over his shoulder again. This red dress is so short that anyone passing by would be able to see my thong underneath.
He parks quickly, and he doesn’t speak. Simply gets out of the car and comes to open the door for me.
So there’s a gentleman somewhere underneath all that armor. I’ve gotten a glimpse of him from time to time, but usually he seems to be in beast mode. Not that I mind. It’s kind of a turn-on, as much as I hate to admit it.
He grabs my hand—yes, my hand, not my wrist this time—and pulls me along into the building. When we reach the door to my apartment, he holds out his hand. “Key.”
I fish the key out of my small clutch—which, oddly, my attacker had no interest in—and hand it to him.
He unlocks the door.
I turn, expecting to say good night, but he barges in behind me.
“Samson—”
