Chapter 3

“Uhm, where are we going?” she asks in a small, soft voice.

I stare at her.

Her accent is odd. Not local. A little affectated.

“Where do you think we’re going?”

She swallows.

“I don’t know. Are you going to do something to me?” Instinctively, she shrinks against her seat, putting distance between us.

“No,” I grind out. “I will not do anything to you.”

Her eyes widen. She looks at me as if she couldn’t believe such a thing.

“Where’s your home? I’ll take you there.”

She blinks. Biting her lower lip, she seems deep in thought. Meanwhile, the minutes go by and I’m wasting more time.

Goddamn it! Why did I do this to myself?

Instead of minding my own business, driving home and getting there in a timely fashion to watch my show, I’m now left babysitting this girl.

I scowl at the thought. Then I scowl at myself.

I’ve never had an altruistic bone in my body. So what the hell was I thinking tonight? My own behavior puzzles me, which in turn fuels my annoyance until I’m tapping my foot so aggressively against the car floor that I might break a hole through it.

“Sir?”

I snap my gaze to her.

Did she say anything? Doesn’t matter.

“Your home. Where is it?” I repeat.

She wets her lips. Her big eyes are watching me warily.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do anything to me?”

“Damn sure.” I roll my eyes. “Sorry, kiddo, but underage girls don’t do it for me.”

“I’m not underage,” she mumbles under her breath.

I raise a brow.

“I’m twenty-five.”

Surprise flickers across my features, and I let my gaze roam over her.

She doesn’t look it.

She’s so small and frail, especially with my coat swallowing her up. Her face is devoid of makeup, her lashes long and incredibly dark. She has an innocent look about her. I suppose the more I look at her, I can see that she’s not that young.

It’s her eyes.

It’s those damn big eyes of hers.

There’s something unsettling about them.

“Doesn’t make one damn difference.” I roll my eyes.

Now it’s her turn to study me with an inscrutable expression.

She shrugs the coat off her shoulders and leans closer to me.

“Really?” she asks, blinking repeatedly.

I take hold of her shoulders and push her back in her seat.

“Really. Now tell me where your home is so I can take you.” And wash my hands of you. But I don’t say that.

“You don’t find me irresistible?” She frowns.

“What the hell is with these questions? Did you hit your head when you fell?”

She shakes her head.

“I thought that’s why you saved me. So you can…” She swallows. “So you can have your way with me.”

I tilt my head to the side, staring at her.

This girl. She’s testing my patience.

“Why the hell would I save you to take advantage of you myself? That makes no fucking sense,” I tell her.

“You swear a lot,” she murmurs.

“Yeah, so?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Well, I don’t fucking care what you like.”

“But it’s crass,” she goes on.

“Don’t care. My car, my rules. If you don’t like it, see yourself out,” I say and click the button to unlock the passenger door. Stretching over her seat, I push the door open.

Immediately, the chilly wind makes its way inside.

She purses her lips as she stares at me, a hint of mutiny in her gaze. She grabs the handle of the door and closes it.

Oh, so the little rabbit has some spunk after all.

“Why did you save me then?” she eventually asks.

“Fucking hell,” I groan as I scrub a hand over my face. “Now I’m wondering the same thing. Why the hell did I have to save you?” I mumble under my breath.

“No one else did,” she continues, turning fully toward me. “No one else stopped to ask what was going on.”

“Yeah, well, don’t make it into something more,” I mutter, heat traveling up my face.

“You really don’t want me?” she asks incredulously. “You don’t find me irresistible at all?”

“What, are you offering?”

“Uhm, no?” she stutters, averting her gaze.

Another thought suddenly crosses my mind.

Fuck.

Why did I not think about this earlier?

She’s scantily clad, by the side of the highway. There’s one other explanation as to why she would do that.

She was there to ply her trade. And that man must have been a potential customer who was getting a little more rowdy after she rejected him.

I sneak another glance at her.

How the fuck would someone like her be a prostitute? Aside from her lack of clothes in this nasty weather, there’s nothing else that screams sex worker. Her clothes are normal, not sexy. She’s not wearing any makeup. But maybe that’s her style.

I already assumed she was underage. I have no doubt others would, too.

My lips pull back in disgust.

Fucking hell. Don’t tell me she’s trying to appeal to fucking pedos!

The urge to get names out of her so I can hunt them down is overwhelming. Now those make the best kill. They’re fucking cowards who prey on those weaker than them and deserve nothing but a slow and painful death.

I’ve killed my fair share of them. But the sad reality is that no matter how many I kill, there are still many more out there, most of the time hiding behind a mask of normalcy and living their lives without ever being found out.

There’s nothing more that I hate in this world than fucking cowards—those pieces of shit who abuse and exploit helpless people and animals—although I’m rather partial to animals. Children, women, and animals should be protected at all costs. They should never be hurt.

A flash of white dances in front of my eyes.

Once more, I find myself lost in my musings. And as I blink, it’s to find the girl nearly on my lap. Her face is inches away from mine—so much so that I can feel her breath on my lips.

My eyes widen in alarm and I freeze.

What the hell is wrong with her?

I stare at those haunting eyes of hers, and a sweet, musky scent invades my nostrils.

She smells good, my brain tells me as it processes that stimulus. She smells better than one hundred percent of the people I’ve met, and I can’t stop myself from breathing her in.

It’s not a perfume. There’s nothing chemical about the scent—and I’m very familiar with all types of chemicals.

No, it’s something natural. The scent clings to her skin, made more potent by the warmth surrounding us. She’s left my coat behind, so she’s once more scantily clad. Her bare arms cage me in, and if I were to turn my face, I could brush my lips against her skin.

Goddamn it, Marlowe. There will be no lip brushing of any sort!

Her eyes are even bigger up close. They’re a warm shade of brown, that on any other day, I would have called woody. But in this moment, the color is like a magical swirling amber that’s trying to hypnotize me.

And I almost fall for it.

Almost.

“What about now?” she asks huskily. With every word she speaks, her hot breath brushes against my face. It makes me…uncomfortable. “Do you find me irresistible now?” She bats her lashes slowly at me—she probably thinks she’s coming across as flirtatious.

“How much do you want?” I ask.

Her brows go up and a smile slowly curves at her lips.

“A thousand dollars? Two?”

“So you do want me,” she murmurs, her voice dropping an octave.

“To leave me alone,” I add. Grabbing her by the arms carefully so I don’t touch her skin, I deposit her back in her seat.

She gasps, her eyes wide with shock.

I shake my head at her.

“You’re a hooker, aren’t you? I get you need to make money and whatever, but you’re doing it all wrong,” I tell her. “You can’t go out dressed like this or you’ll freeze to death, and then you won’t make any money at all. And you should probably change your stakeout area. There are all sorts of creeps on the highway, truck drivers and the like. They’re not known to be the most hygienic. But there’s also the danger of running into a serial killer and the next thing you know, you’re all chopped up and dumped somewhere,” I add seriously.

I mean, I should know. I am one. But she’s lucky she came across this particular serial killer, since I do have my standards. I’m also not a fan of chopping. I like to incinerate my victims after they’ve endured the most grotesque pain imaginable.

She gawks at me, her mouth wide open.

“W-what?” she stammers.

“I’m not judging you. Hell, in this economy, anything’s fair game. But you’re too vulnerable. You’re smaller than the average woman, and”—I pause as I peruse her—“you don’t seem to have any weapon. You should get one.”

“What are you?—”

“In fact, I’ll help you. I’m sure I can find you a workhouse or something—by that I mean a brothel—where you can continue to ply your trade sans the danger.”

I nod, satisfied.

Who knew I was so magnanimous?

My mother would be beside herself with glee if she heard about this.

Alas, I don’t plan to tell her. The moment she realizes I’ve been in the vicinity of a prostitute, she’ll start making assumptions and I’ll never hear the end of it. Just the fact that I hung out with a female once would be enough to give her something to talk about for years to come, always ending with the same question—when will I give her grandchildren.

Right about fucking never.

But I don’t tell her that. It would break her heart. Both the swearing and the fact that I have no plans of having kids. Ever. It’s better if she still has some hope that her dream will one day come true. She’s certainly become more insistent about it since I’m nearing my thirties.

“You think I’m a…hooker?” she speaks slowly, her tone implying shock.

“You don’t have to sound offended. I told you, I’m not judging you,” I say with a wave of my hand.

“But I’m not!” she cries out. “How could you even think that?” she demands, covering her chest with her arms.

“How could I not?” I ask with a raised brow.

“You… You…” She blinks rapidly as she sputters. “You’re an asshole!” she exclaims loudly, pointing a finger at me.

I smile, now entirely more comfortable with that exchange.

“Oh, thank you. I do try,” I reply drily.

She stares at me for a few moments before she releases a deep breath. She reclines back in her seat, pulling the coat around her shoulders and pressing her knees to her chest.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to get her dirty slippers off my leather seat. But I hold it in.

Ah, yes. I’m beyond magnanimous now.

“I’m not a hooker,” she continues. She doesn’t look at me, merely staring forward. All the confidence from before is gone, leaving behind a vulnerability that makes me uncomfortable.

“All right.”

“I’m not!” she repeats.

“Fine. I believe you.”

“I just wanted to test you,” she adds. My curiosity is piqued. “To see if you would take advantage of me.”

“I assume I’ve passed?” I chuckle.

She just gives me a sharp nod.

“Don’t take it personally, pet. I’m sure you’re a lovely girl and all that, but as I said?—”

“I don’t do it for you?” She cuts me off, her tone defiant. She raises her gaze to glare at me.

“Precisely.”

She mutters something under her breath and promptly looks away.

She…puzzles me. I don’t understand her or her reactions. One moment she’s seemingly trying to seduce me, the next she’s colder than that goddamn weather outside. But then she’s not trying to seduce me, she’s just testing me, and I’m still not sure whether she’s pleased or upset I turned her down.

Fucking hell!

Women. Strange creatures.

There’s little wonder I don’t want to associate with them. They function on a completely different frequency than me.

A loud noise erupts in the silence of the car—something like a growl.

Frowning, I glance at her.

She’s staring at her hands as she fidgets with her fingers. She audibly gulps down, which is followed by yet another noise.

“When was the last time you ate?” I ask her. My voice comes out rather sharply because she jolts up, her pale cheeks reddening.

“Uhm,” she murmurs, fidgeting some more with her fingers. She wiggles uncomfortably in her seat. “A few days ago.” Her answer is so soft, I barely hear it.

“A few days ago?” I repeat incredulously.

Her chin tips down in an abrupt nod. She doesn’t look at me.

My lips flatten.

How the hell did she go a few days without food? But as soon as the question arises, I’m reminded of her slight frame.

She is malnourished.

Fuck.

I was supposed to dump her somewhere and be on my way. I’ve already wasted too much time as it is. Yet the more I look at her, so thin and frail, the more I can’t bring myself to leave her as it is.

With an annoyed sigh, I start the car again. Checking the GPS, I see there’s an open diner a few miles away.

As I drive, I note her curiosity from the corner of my eyes. Yet she doesn’t say a word.

She doesn’t ask where we’re going or what my plans are with her. Perhaps she’s already established I’m not going to do anything to her. Or, perhaps, she’s just too desperate to say no to anything.

Once more, I ask myself—what the hell did I get myself into?

It takes me about ten minutes to get to the location on the GPS.

Wendy’s Dineris written in neon letters on the front of the building, one of which has flickered out. I steer the car into the parking lot, pleased to see some other cars, too.

Good. Maybe this isn’t such a dump after all.

“Come on,” I say and get out of the car.

She’s slow to react and even slower to get out of the car. But as she does, she forgets the coat inside.

Cursing under my breath, I go around the car, get the coat from her seat, and drape it around her shoulders.

She releases a gasp of surprise and directs those big eyes of hers toward me. There’s something there in her gaze. Something I can’t quite make sense of.

My hands are rooted on her shoulders as I stare down at her.

This close, I realize how small she is. My assessment of five-two was wrong. She’s barely five feet tall. To my six-three frame, her head only reaches the middle of my chest.

A tightness forms in my chest the more I look at her.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Let’s head inside or you’ll freeze to death.”

With that, I turn around and expect her to follow me.

She does.

Slowly. Almost reluctantly.

Yet there’s a look of wonder on her face as she steps inside the shabby diner—as if it’s the finest place she’s ever seen.

A waitress greets us at the entrance, and I grunt, “A table for two.”

She shows us to an empty table, but she makes no effort to disguise her interest in my barely clad little companion.

I give her a harsh stare.

She scurries away.

Now just gotta hope she won’t pose any trouble. Although by the way she hurries to the other staff and immediately starts whispering, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

God, I hate people. Why the hell do they have to be such busybodies?

“Sit,” I order the girl as I slide into my own seat across from her.

She does as told and hugs the coat closer to her body.

It’s not cold inside. But it’s not warm either—not as warm as I’d like it to be anyway.

Damn it, the sacrifices I’m making for this little chit. I should be given a fucking award for it.

The waitress promptly returns with two menus that she places in front of us. Then she hovers.

She fucking hovers.

“Aren’t you cold, honey?” she asks the girl with a concerned look.

She raises her eyes and meets the older woman’s gaze. She gives a low shake of her head.

“She’s fine,” I bark out.

“I wasn’t asking you, sir,” she snaps back at me.

I raise a brow at her.

“I’m fine,” the girl finally speaks, plastering a smile on her face. “He saved me from the cold.”

The waitress narrows her eyes at us.

I get it. I do. She looks fucking young, and I look like…well, like a surly asshole. In one case appearances are deceiving, but in the other not so much.

“You tell me if there’s anything you might need,” the waitress continues, placing her hand over the girl’s. Her eyes widen. “My, you’re so warm. How can you be so warm dressed like this? And your feet…”

“I’m fine,” the girl repeats.

It takes a few more words for the waitress to finally leave us alone to peruse the menu.

Thank God for small mercies.

The girl turns to the menu but doesn’t pick it up. She simply stares at it.

“What are you getting?” I ask casually.

She bites on her lip, her entire body tense.

“I don’t have any money,” she whispers, her gaze still on the menu.

“I have.” I shrug. “And before you ask, I won’t demand anything in return. Take it as goodwill.”

She slowly looks at me. She blinks. Then she swallows.

My ears pick on another noise coming from her stomach.

“Pick something. The sooner you decide, the sooner we eat,” I say and look at my own menu.

My lips curl. It’s all quite basic for a diner and things I wouldn’t normally eat.

But as I glance around from the corner of my eye, I can’t help but shudder at thinking about how sanitary this place is—or isn’t.

Fuck.

With how reluctant the girl is, I doubt she’ll eat anything if I don’t, so I settle on a cream cheese bagel and an omelet.

“So?” I ask again.

She’s still staring at the menu.

“I’ll have what you’re having,” she replies slowly, her lips pulling in a half-smile.

I raise a brow at her. Really? She’s fucking starving and she doesn’t even dare to pick something?

Instead of arguing with her, though, I signal the waitress over.

“What can I get you?” she asks as she pulls out her notebook.

“One of everything on the menu,” I say.

“What? Are you su?—”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, of course not.” She glances at the girl briefly before she jots down the order. “And to drink?”

“I will have a coffee. Steaming hot. No milk. No sugar.”

I wait for the girl to say what she’d like, but she just stares blankly at the menu.

“Do you have tea?”

“Of course. What type would you like?”

She takes a moment to think.

“Peppermint?”

“You got it. I’ll be right back.”

After the waitress leaves, I turn my attention to the girl.

“What’s your name?”

Not that I’m interested. But I’m tired of referring to her as the girl.

“M-Minnie,” she answers in a soft voice.

“Minnie?” I repeat, surprised. Well, the name sure fits.

She nods. “What is yours?”

“Marlowe.”

She nods again.

“What were you doing on the highway dressed like this?” I ask.

She’s a curiosity, I’m not going to lie. There are so many contradictions to her that I can’t make sense of. And what do I do when I encounter a problem?

I obsess over it until I solve it.

She presses her lips together. Seconds go by and she doesn’t answer me.

“Where do you live?” I try with another question.

Again, silence greets me.

“Do you have anyone I can call to pick you up?”

With each question I ask, she seems even more reluctant to speak.

But just as I think of how else to formulate my questions, she finally answers.

“I don’t have a home. I don’t have anyone you can call. I…” She trails off.

“You?” I raise a brow.

“I sleep in a park not far from the highway. Sometimes.”

I stare at her.

“You’re homeless?”

She slowly raises her face to look at me, and she gives me a small nod.

Before I can help myself, I pull on her hand and fold the sleeve of the coat so I can check her arms. Given her weight, she might be a user.

But I soon realize my mistake. Her arms are flawless. Her green veins are visible through her almost translucent skin, but there’s not one mark on her arms.

A wave of shame hits me at my assumption.

Yet that quickly vanishes as I feel the warmth of her skin.

The waitress was right. She is hot. Too damn hot.

Pulling the sleeves back down, I lean over the table and place my hand over her forehead to check the temperature.

She’s running a fever. A very high fever.

“Fucking hell, Minnie. Why didn’t you say you were burning this badly? We should go to a hospital.”

She grabs my hand as I try to wrench it away and keeps it in place.

Slowly, she shakes her head.

“It’s not a fever,” she whispers. “It’s my normal body temperature.”

“The fuck you say? No one’s body temperature is this hot.”

“Mine is. Please… No hospital.”

More questions swim through my mind.

Is she ill? Is she contagious?

I just touched her. I breathed in her air. What if she has some disease and she passed it to me?

“I’m not sick,” she murmurs as if reading my thoughts. “I’ve always been this way.”

“Is that why you’re not dressed properly?” I frown.

She gives me a nod and a small smile. A genuine smile.

“I’m always hot.”

And I’m never hot enough.

Fuck.

These thoughts are dangerous.

“Fine. If you say so,” I grumble. “But if you get sick later on, remember I offered.”

“Okay.” She releases a soft giggle.

My body tenses.

She’s almost…beautiful?

For fuck’s sake. My mind is going to mush if that’s what I’m thinking about right now.

“You shouldn’t sleep outside anymore. There are shelters for women. I can get you in contact with a few.”

“No.”

“No?”

“They won’t take me in,” she admits, almost ashamed.

“Why the hell not?” I burst out.

She fidgets with her hands. Her eyes roam wildly around as she prepares a reply.

“I have a…record,” she stammers. “Aggravated assault. I… I tried to go to a few, but they kicked me out after they found out about the assault. They said they didn’t want any trouble.”

“You? Assault?” I ask in disbelief.

Who did this five-foot-nothing little girl assault?

She forces a smile.

“I got arrested shortly after I turned eighteen. I recently got released.”

Not many things surprise me. But Minnie just managed to shock the hell out of me.

Seeing my expression, she hurries to add, “It’s not something one says to someone they’ve just met, no?” She laughs nervously. “It’s fine if you want to leave.”

I tiltmy head to the side and study her, suddenly seeing her with new eyes.

“Who was it?”

“Huh?”

“Who did you assault?”

The waitress shows up with our beverages, giving Minnie the opportunity to evade the question. She certainly doesn’t look very pleased about it.

“Everything all right?” the waitress asks with a fake smile.

“Fine,” I bark out, though my gaze is still on Minnie.

She fidgets in her seat.

The waitress mutters something, but I don’t really care about what she has to say. Not now. Not when I’ve found the most interesting thing in…forever. God, I almost forgot what it was like to feel the thrill of the chase. This time I might not be physically chasing someone, but I’m chasing information. That will have to do.

As the waitress leaves, Minnie looks left and right—no doubt thinking of how to change the subject.

Someone more delicate would let this slide. Someone with more empathy would see her distress and aim to make it better. But I’m neither. I need to know.

“Who did you assault, Minnie?” I ask again, more punctuated.

Give it to me, Minnie.

Tell me all your secrets.

“My foster father,” she whispers.

My eyes flash at her.

“He hurt you?” I continue my interrogation.

“He…tried to,” she replies uneasily.

“What did you do? How did you hurt him?”

Now we’re getting to the best part. If I can’t have my thirst for blood assuaged, then at least I can live vicariously through someone else. Who would have thought, though, that it would be through a mere slip of a girl who served time for it?

My heart pounds in my chest.

Tell me, Minnie. I need to know.

“I stabbed him.” She pauses. Glancing up, she watches me closely to monitor my reaction. “Ten times,” she adds in a low voice when she sees I’m not disgusted by it. Oh, if only she knew.

“Ten?” I repeat huskily.

My heart is about to fucking explode.

“Only ten?”

Her eyes widen in shock. And before she can help herself, she lets out the truth, “Twenty-seven times.”

A smile spreads across my face.

“And he still lived after that?” I ask, surprised.

She purses her lips.

Her hands reach for the hot cup of tea and she brings it closer to her body, blowing in the steam. My coffee is there, somewhere on the table. But I don’t have time to think about it. Not when my sole focus is this little slip of a woman with the courage of an Amazonian.

More. I need to know more.

She lifts the cup to her lips, but she doesn’t drink. She merely uses it as a cover for what I note to be the twitching of her lips.

“I didn’t want him to die,” she murmurs. “Now he will remember me for the rest of his life.”

God! Have I perchance gone to heaven and met an angel?

I lean closer to her, the pounding of my heart becoming an echo in my ears.

“Then you don’t regret it, do you?”

She takes a sip. How, I don’t know, since the liquid is scorching hot—I can tell by the amount of steam coming off it. But she makes no note of it, her features as serene as before.

“Do you?” she asks, her lips curving into a full smile.

I frown.

What?