be better company to me than the manipulating monster sitting beside me.
As the miles pass and the silence consumes us, my mind keeps drifting back to my father. I close my eyes just for a moment to relive his smile and simple touch. The way he pushed me on a swing when I was little, the times he took me to the fair, and we had ice cream on Sundays… So many happy memories snuffed out by the vile monster sitting next to me.
My father might have killed Lorenzo’s mother, and even if I didn’t agree with it, I knew there had to be a reason. Unlike Lorenzo, I knew it wouldn’t be something good. If my father worked for the FBI, there had to be a reason. It was hard enough to imagine him as someone who killed others.
Minutes pass; just as my exhausted mind begins to shut down, and my eyes close, we pull onto another road, and minutes later, into a driveway. The house is a simple cookie-cutter style looking similar to everyone else’s on the block. It definitely isn’t mafia style. Refusing to look at Lorenzo, I undo my seatbelt, open the door, and hop out. There were no other cars in the driveway, and I already hate the thought of being alone in a house with him.
Lorenzo stands in front of the car, waiting for me. The look on his face tells me he is over dealing with me. Which is fine—I’m certainly over dealing with him.
“No need to babysit me, asshole,” I say under my breath as I walk past him, completely ignoring his extended hand. The last thing I want from him is affection. I hear his intake of deep breath and his heavy steps behind my own.
My tired foot touches the top step leading up to the front door, and I reach for the handle, but the door swings open on its own before I make contact.
“Welcome. I’m so glad you’re here. We’ve been looking for you.” Jared’s voice meets my ears, and I look up to his face.
Instead of saying something bitchy, I simply keep my mouth shut as I walk past him and into what I assume is his house. It smells like a man and looks, well… like a bachelor pad. The walls are painted a deep gray, leather couches and a huge flat screen with various electronics in front of it. As I round the corner, coming to stand in the living room, I take in the kitchen. It’s simple but sleek.
“I think you should sit down, Amara,” Enzo says behind me, his hand landing on my shoulder heavily. I immediately pull back as if his touch is searing my skin like a hot iron.
“I think you should never touch me again,” I growl, taking a step away to put more distance between us. In his eyes, a fiery rage stirs like a volcano ready to blow. “You lost the right to touch me, and don’t think you will ever earn it back.”
His hands once brought me immense pleasure, but with it came pain. Dark, stab yourself in the heart, pain. Such deep and angry pain, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to come back from it. I saved myself today, not with an ounce of help from this man—he killed my father, yet he still feels he has the right to touch me? Protect me?
“Amara…” I turn my attention to Jared, the concern etched into his features is obvious. His dark hair is a mess, and his eyes look haunted as if he’s about to tell me something I won’t like. I guess there isn’t any better time than now.
“Tell me. Someone needs to tell me what the fuck is going on,” I demand. Both Enzo and Jared look at each other with matching worried expressions.
“I think we should—” Jared starts.
“I think you should tell me. Right fucking now.” My eyes narrow at the two of them. Keeping secrets in the situation we are in isn’t helping.
Enzo’s large hand curls into his hair as he goes around the couch to sit down.
Taking a deep breath, Jared exhales. “John wasn’t your father.”
The words hit me like a brick wall, my mind spiraling out of control.
“Why would you say something like that?”
“Because it’s true.”
“Funny, ’cause I remember very clearly John being there my entire life, reading me bedtime stories, teaching me how to ride a bike, and taking me to the father-daughter dance. I don’t remember a different