Progress.
“What happens next?” she asks, following me around the back of my car.
I knew she was smart. This proves it. Asking the important questions, instead of my name or why I’d have a safehouse in a rundown motel.
“We stay here while I work. Until you’re safe.” I collect her things from the trunk, a bag too light to have enough clothes and supplies to last us hiding out, and head toward the building.
We walk halfway to my room’s door before she looks at me again. This time, a heavy sigh accompanies her gaze. “How bad is it?”
“Not very. At least, not yet.” Rico spotting someone strolling through the streets at night isn’t reason to believe Don Bernal’s on the hunt. But it’s important to temper our expectations.
She nods and turns away.
We stop outside the room I’ve built my safe house inside, and the only thing different about it than every other door is a black box attached to the handle. I grab a card out of my pocket and slide it through the box. It beeps, and the lock disengages.
“But don’t worry, little Gem.” I meant it when I said I liked it. So much, I’m gonna keep it for myself. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I open the door, and Gemma’s face lights up at the interior. Polished hardwood floors, elegant marble countertops, and the latest and greatest in furniture from two years ago fill the space. Every safe house I own is fit for a king. The outside, unassuming to any eyes that may fall upon it, while the interiors match the lavish lifestyle I’ve become accustomed to.
Eyes wide, she wanders inside as if we stepped out of reality and into some dream.
“It’s like a dream come true.” Her fingers gently graze everything she passes. “The rooms looked so small from out there. How is this inside?”
“Tore down the walls between the rooms and made it a place I’d want to stay if push came to shove.” I could watch her like this for hours. Pray the kid-in-a-candy-storelook never leaves her face again.
I don’t need to pray. No divine intervention is going to keep me from seeing this happiness for the rest of my life.
I head inside and let her continue her exploration. With my renovations, this safe house has all the amenities we’ll need for however long it takes. Two rooms, an office for me to work out, and a fully stocked fridge. What more could you ask for?
But as these things always seem to go, when she rejoins me in the kitchenette, her mood drops back to the somber fearfulness I met her with.
“Something the matter?” I lean against the counter, pressing my palms into it at my sides.
“No. This is … this place … is amazing.”
“But?” Out with it. Fuck, I can’t stand to see Gemma like this when she was skipping gleefully a second ago.
“I don’t understand why you’re doing it.” Her eyes sink to her feet like I’m about to yell at her for doing something bad.
“Because you’re in danger.” Straightforward and to the point. Any other answers I could give might lean me closer to the realm of psychopathy.
And I don’t want to scare her just yet.
“Does that mean you jump in and save any damsel in distress?” Her voice strains in an attempt to bring even the slightest bit of levity to this situation.
“You’re not any damsel in distress.” There’s no better time like the present, that’s what they say anyway. Why bother holding myself back when the sooner I share my dirty little secret, the sooner we can get to the good bits?
Unless I’m misreading this. Gemma’s gawking could very well be out of mistrust. Thinking of me as the enemy when I’m here to help. But even as we stand in here, I can tell it’s not the case. She might be apprehensive, but she came with me willingly.
“Then what am I?” Her head slowly cranes up until our eyes meet. Her voice so strained and soft, it encompasses all her fears.
I should’ve killed ‘em for leaving her in this state.
“Mine.” Truth is the only answer I’ll give her.
She roused a beast deep inside me when I found her cowering behind those boxes. Woken from a long, dormant sleep with a single goal in mind.
Take her. Claim her. Give her the world, and let nothing get in the way.
