21
Kayla
Daren’s been acting weird ever since we left the bakery. Weird in a fidgety, shifting-in-his-seat, jutting-his-jaw-every-five-minutes kind of way.
Gripping the steering wheel, I follow his directions as the sun disappears and the rainy day transforms into a cloudy night. I glance in the rearview mirror for the hundredth time and bite my lip. The same black car has been behind us since we left the town square. It could be nothing. Or it could be Big Joe.
“What?” Daren says, watching me bite down on my lip. “What’s wrong?” He turns to look behind us.
“I think someone is following us again,” I say.
He watches the headlights in the distance for a moment. “It’s probably just someone headed the same direction as us. If it was this boss guy of yours—what’s his name again?”
“Big Joe.”
“Really? That’s what he goes by? Big Joe?” Daren scoffs. “What is he, a mobster?”
I don’t answer and his eyes widen.
“Are you shitting me? Your mom owed money to a mobster?” he says then runs his free hand through his hair and mutters, “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“I’m not sure that he’s a mobster,” I say defensively. “I just know he’s a bad guy.”
Just then, the car following us takes a turn and is no longer behind us. I sigh in relief as I stare at the empty road in the rearview mirror.
“See?” Daren smiles at me. “No one is following you.”
I nod and let out a little laugh. “Wow. I feel dumb. I keep thinking we’re being followed and we’re clearly not. I’m so jumpy. Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. I’d be freaked out too if I thought someone who may or may not be a mobster was after me.” He playfully grins, which helps ease my anxiety. “But you’re safe.” His eyes stay on mine. “And besides, you have me.” He wiggles our cuffed hands. “I’ll protect you. You know, with my free hand.”
I chuckle, my fear slowly draining from my veins as he winks. I’m oddly comforted by the fact that Daren is physically attached to me. I’ve gotten so used to being on my own that I’ve forgotten how nice it is to have someone to share things with. Excitement. Adventure. Fear. Having someone at my side makes everything better. And it certainly makes this whole thing with Big Joe less scary.
“Oh my!” I smile at Daren. “You’re my knight in shining… steel manacles.”
He bows his head. “At your service, milady.”
My smile stays in place for the next few miles as we joke about sword fighting with handcuffs on, and soon all my fear has completely melted away. Daren has that effect on me, I’m learning. He has a way of distracting me from things that might otherwise get me down. It’s kind of… sweet. He’s sweet.
We drive to the ritzy side of town where the neighborhoods are all gated with grand entrances and Daren directs me to a gated community called Westlake Estates. I turn in and pull up to the security booth at the front of the community. No one is manning the booth at this late hour, leaving the security completely at the mercy of a keypad.
I lean back in my seat so Daren can easily reach the keypad. “Do you want to—”
“Five six four five,” he says.
I stare at him. “Did you just give me the code to your gated community?”
“I did.”
I grin. “Oh my. I might just have to start calling you my friend now.”
He scoffs. “It’s about time.”
With a laugh, I punch in the numbers. A buzzing noise sounds from the box before the nine-foot-tall grand gates slowly start to open.
I marvel at the rolling hills and water-featured entrance of Daren’s community and I swear I can almost hear angels singing as we drive through. This is easily the most expensive neighborhood I’ve ever been in.
“Just follow this road all the way to the stop sign,” Daren says. “Then take a right until you come to a driveway at the end of a cul-de-sac.”
I do as he says and he points ahead of us. “That’s it, right there.”
My lips part. Of course he lives on the top of a hill in a cul-de-sac—a cul-de-sac that no other houses are on. He owns his own freaking cul-de-sac! I’m so collecting gas money from him. I cruise up the steep driveway at the base of a mansion. And it is a mansion.
He points to the side. “Drive around back and park beside the pool house.”
“You have a pool house?” I shake my head. “Why am I not surprised?”
He lets out a strained sigh. “Just park.”
The neighborhood is well lit, with fancy lampposts every few yards, but the mansion and pool house are completely dark. No lights turned on, inside or out.