He broke the extended silence with a curse, and instead of going into the terminal like he’d originally planned, he stalked across a covered walkway to the customer service center, hauling her along behind him. She wasn’t exactly kicking and screaming, but she certainly wasn’t making this easy, and they drew several disapproving looks and a few concerned murmurs from the people they passed on the way to the car rental desks.
He chose a different company from the one he used when he arrived—mainly because he figured they weren’t going to rent him another car when the first hadn’t been returned yet—and within ten minutes, they were headed into the garage with an attendant. Sage remained mulishly silent, even when the confused attendant spoke to her directly. For a half a second, Vaughn considered making excuses for her behavior, but what was the point? If she wanted to be a bitch to the poor guy, it wasn’t his problem. He wasn’t the fucking etiquette police.
But after a quick walk-around inspection of the nothing-special sedan, he thanked the attendant and slipped the kid a twenty as an apology. He may not be the etiquette police, but his mother had taught him better than that and he refused to disrespect her memory with bad manners.
Vaughn opened the driver’s side door and motioned for Sage to get in first. She snarled at him, then climbed in, fumbling over the center console and purposely, he thought, whacking his hand on the dash. His knuckles, still bruised from the cage fight, howled in pain, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d hurt him. He gritted his teeth and slid behind the wheel.
Her arm flopped like dead weight as he shifted the car into gear and the edge of the cuff dug hard into his wrist. He scowled over at her. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”
“What? You think I’d make this easy on you?” She snorted. “Fat chance.”
He stopped the car and, with his foot firmly pressed to the brake, levered himself up to grab the handcuff key out of his pocket. He freed his wrist, reached over her, and secured the cuff to the passenger door handle instead. “Better?”
She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and slouched back in her seat. “I’m still going to escape.”
“Fat chance,” he mimicked in the same snarky tone.
She went back to ignoring him and stared out the window. Fine by him. He wasn’t in a chatty mood, either.
He switched on the radio—he’d gone for the satellite option since it was going to be a long fucking ride back to DC—and fiddled with the buttons until he found his favorite classic rock station. It was the kind of music his father had enjoyed, and listening to it always made him feel closer to David Wilde.
The Rolling Stones song that had been playing ended, and Styx blared through the car, wailing about how the law finally caught up to a wanted man.
Vaughn smirked and glanced over at his prisoner, but if she caught the irony, she didn’t show it. In fact, she didn’t appear to be at all aware of her surroundings anymore. As the lights of New Orleans faded farther and farther into the distance behind them, she seemed to shrink in on herself, her chin dropping to her chest, shoulders hunching forward. As if on cue, she began to shake with silent sobs.
He returned his attention to the road. “It’s not going to work, vixen.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her jerk upright. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes with her free hand. “You’re a bully.”
He snorted a half laugh. Him, a bully? Now that was funny. After his parents were killed when he and Cam were eleven, he’d grown into a morose teenager—had probably been clinically depressed, though he was never diagnosed—and had endured more than his fair share of bullying throughout high school because of it. It wasn’t until he’d joined the military at his oldest brother Greer’s urging, that he’d finally escaped the constant bullying. The Navy had given him the stability and structure he’d needed to overcome his teenage angst, and becoming a SEAL had given him purpose. He’d been able to take out some of the major bullies of the world and make a quiet difference. He had liked that about his job. He missed it more than he wanted any of his brothers to know.
And, fucking hell, he wanted his trident back. He’d earned that pin with blood and sweat and tears.
He glanced over at Sage again. “Where’s my trident?”
…
Jesus, the man must have a black pit for a heart. She’d just put on the most convincing damsel in distress act of her life—well, mostly an act. The tears had been real enough—and Vaughn hadn’t even blinked.
When she didn’t answer, his hands tightened on the wheel. “Where is it, Lark?”
“It’s Sage. And we’re back to your precious, huh?” She pushed out a breath and turned in her seat, holding out her cuffed wrist. They’d been in the car for a good forty minutes, and the metal was starting to chafe. “Uncuff me and I’ll tell you where it is.”
“Fat fucking chance.”
“Well, then. You’ll never see your precious again.”
Vaughn grumbled under his breath, then took one hand off the wheel and levered his very fine ass up off the seat to dig the handcuff key out of his jeans pocket. He passed it to her and, thank you God, it felt amazing when the steel bracelet finally opened. She rubbed her wrist.