Page 37 of Hunting Gianna
Cassidy’s face is all sympathy. She reaches for Gianna’s hand, and for a second, I think Gianna might let go of mine and reach back. She doesn’t.
Cassidy leans in, voice low. “These men,” she says, “are savages. But they’ll treat you right if you let them.”
Gianna’s mouth opens and closes. She’s trying to process the words, but I see the moment she files them away for later. She’s already learned not to trust anything, but Cassidy is different. She wants to believe her.
I squeeze Gianna’s hand. Hard. “See?” I say. “Told you.”
Cassidy looks up at me, eyes sharp. “You take care of her, Knox. Stop leaving these bruises on her! She looks like a battered wife,” she says. It’s not a request.
Gianna stifles a giggle, elbowing me in my side.
“I will,” I say.
The way Gianna shivers when I say it is almost obscene.
Cassidy stands, “Well, I’ve got to get to Noah. He’s in a whole ass mood today.” She gives Gianna a long, meaningful look, then disappears back into the lodge.
We’re alone again, but the silence is different now. Warmer, maybe. Or maybe just less hostile.
Gianna leans into me, head on my shoulder. “She’s nice,” she says.
“She is,” I agree. “Maybe once you’re trained, you two can have tea and crumpets.”
Cassidy is barely inside before Gianna tugs my sleeve, urgency all over her face. “Wait,” she says, voice pitched low. “Do you think she has—” she glances around, cheeks bright pink, “—like, pads or tampons or anything? I didn’t see any in your bag.”
I bark a laugh. “Go ask her.”
Cassidy must have been listening at the door, because she reappears before Gianna can chicken out. “You need something?”
Gianna hesitates, then nods, mortified. “I… yeah, sorry. I’m kind of dying.”
Cassidy waves it off, already rummaging through her massive over-sized purse. “You should see the crap I have to keep for Noah in here. Hence why it’s so ridiculously big,” she says, pulling out a travel pack. She hands over a handful of pads, a box of tampons, even a couple of mini-packs of some kind of pills. “Always be prepared,” she says, like a Girl Scout who grew up and never learned to quit.
Gianna takes the stack and shoves it in the bag I put on the porch deck, mouth twisted into a weird shape that’s half gratitude, half shame. “Thank you,” she says. “Seriously.”
Cassidy shrugs. “Women have to stick together, right?”
Gianna manages a shaky smile. “Right.”
Cassidy leans in, voice barely above a whisper. “Seriously, don’t fight it so hard. You’ll like if you just give in,” she says. “Trust me.”
She squeezes Gianna’s arm, then ghosts away for good.
“I ordered the chefs to prep us some take out. Should be ready right about now.”
We head back inside to pick up the food. The kitchen staff have packed everything in brown paper bags, the tops rolled down tight and the insides lined with foil containers. Smells like fried chicken and biscuits, mashed potatoes, all the comfort food you could eat if you weren’t worried about what might come after.
Gianna sniffs the bag, her eyes closing for a second. “God, I’ve missed takeout,” she says, almost reverent. “Can we do this again?”
I pause, pretending to consider. “Maybe,” I say. “If you behave.”
She makes a face at me, then smiles, the first real one I’ve seen since I kidnapped her.
We walk out together, me carrying the bags, her glued to my side like we’re a real couple, not a monster and his favorite girl.
“Knox,” she says, just as we hit the front doors.
“Yeah?”
