Shameless - Sybil Bartel Page 0,16

don’t know what the hell that means.” And at this point, I didn’t care. I needed to go home, not to some remote location with Mr. Surly-as-Fuck bodyguard who smelled like heaven and smiled like the devil. A few hours in his presence and I was already addicted. A whole week of him and I would overdose.

“Vincenzo’s connected,” Shade bit out, changing lanes.

“Mafia,” André explained.

My mouth dropped and I forgot about being isolated with Mr. Bodyguard for a hot second. “Are you kidding me?” This wasn’t happening. “You fucked some mafia bitch, and now she’s what? Psycho jealous because I told her my damn name?”

“Not her, her husband.” Shade exited the highway. “And he’s not jealous. He’s thorough.”

“What does that mean?” I demanded.

“Careful,” André warned Shade before addressing me. “Miss Amherst, we’re just doing our job and being cautious. This should blow over shortly, and we’ll get you home as soon as possible. In the meantime, you’ll be safe with Shade.”

Safe with Shade? Was he out of his mind? “You’ve known me since I was twelve, André. Call me Summer, damn it,” I snapped, losing the battle against not panicking. “I’m not questioning my safety. I’ve been gone for almost a year. I don’t want to go wherever the hell you’re forcing me to go. I want to go home. Why can’t you have someone posted outside my penthouse?” I glanced at Shade. “Why can’t you just take me home and stay there? She doesn’t know where I live.”

“My first priority is your safety,” André answered. “Until I know that this potential threat isn’t more complicated than what a single one of my men posted at your place can handle, I’m unwilling to take the risk for you or my team. This is the plan for now. I’ll keep Shade updated, and he can inform you of any changes. In the meantime, give him your phone to power down. Shade, I’ll be in touch. Protocol.”

“Copy.” Shade hung up. Then holding his hand out, he glanced at me. “Give me your phone.”

“No.” I wasn’t giving him my one lifeline out of this. “I need to talk to my father.” Not that Leo Amherst would give a shit about any of this unless it affected his bottom line. He hadn’t even bothered to call me on the day I got out of rehab, let alone the months leading up to it.

Shade’s jaw ticked, and he reached behind our seats. Rummaging in the same bag he’d pulled the sweatshirt out of earlier, he came away with another cell phone. Dropping it in my lap, he pulled onto the highway going north. “Use that to call Amherst.” He held his hand out again. “Give me your phone. Now, Summer.”

“I take it back.” I didn’t want him calling me by my name. “Don’t call me Summer.” Not like that. Not like he hated me. “In fact, don’t call me anything.” Dumping Shade’s stupid phone in the center console because there was no way I was calling my father when he hadn’t so much as sent me a single text, I dug my cell out of my pocket. “Just don’t talk to me at all.” Slapping the damn phone into Shade’s ridiculously large hand, I crossed my arms and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up. As I turned toward the window, his stupid spicy scent got stronger, and I hated him.

I hated how I had no choice.

But I really hated the look he’d given me when he’d said my name. Which was idiotic. I didn’t even know him. What the hell did I care what he thought of me? I didn’t, was the short answer—and should’ve been the only answer.

But he felt like the only real person I’d met in years. Shit, maybe forever.

He didn’t dance around feelings like the stupid counselors at rehab. He didn’t speak softly to me like my stepmom, like she was half afraid of me, half treating me like a child. He didn’t even speak to me like André Luna did, like he had to, like he was only putting up with me because my father was a paying client. And my father? Fuck him. Leo Amherst didn’t give a damn about anyone except himself. I’d never had a real conversation with him. He was more concerned about making money and screwing aspiring musicians barely older than me.

No one ever really talked to me.

Not normally.

Hell, maybe it was because I never really bothered to talk to anyone either.

Whatever.

Talking was overrated.