But maybe I could find him first, twist the tale, make it so that I was not the object of disdain. He was.
When we pulled up to a stop sign, I sent a quick emergency text to Chase; we needed to meet as soon as possible.
Because shit was about to get real — fast.
Trace was quiet the rest of the way to the mall, and all I could think of was how I was going to tell this innocent girl that the life she’d always known was one giant lie.
Violence? Blood? Organized crime? That was her heritage.
She was the one, the girl with the scar, the girl I dreamed about. I was sitting a few inches from her and the pathetic part? I wasn’t the hero. In my dreams, I’d always rescued her, I’d found her parents’ murderer, and I’d redeemed my soul.
The minute I saw that necklace, hope had died in my chest.
This wasn’t the stuff of dreams. It was the stuff of nightmares.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Frozen yogurt turns me on.
Nixon
WE WALKED IN SILENCE through the front doors of the mall. Trace looked behind her and chewed her bottom lip. I tried to see the world through her eyes.
Ten guys followed us.
All of them were dressed in dark colors and expensive-looking suits. I liked it when my men looked good, not like typical gangsters, but actual men. People around us stared curiously, but for the most part, they probably just assumed I was a celebrity or something. Which, in a weird, twisted way, I was the number-one celebrity in Chicago.
Seriously, it even said it under my mug shot.
Which the feds kindly destroyed after my family gave them the information they needed on the corruption that was De Lange.
Then again, that was years ago.
And if there was anything certain in this life, it was that the feds had a very short-term memory. They were like a real-live version of Dory from Finding Nemo.
“Do they have a second-hand store or something here?” Trace asked, her eyes worried as she took in the stores around us.
“Hell, no. Second-hand store? Are you—” He cursed and shook his head. “Second-hand? A freaking used clothing store?” Was she insane?
“Okay, you can stop repeating it already,” she snapped, trying to jerk her hand free from mine. Yeah, not happening.
“Girls like you don’t shop there.”
Immediately she glanced down at the ground as if too embarrassed to make eye contact with me “Um, what about a Ross? Or Wal-Mart or something?” Confused I could only stare at her in hopes of trying to understand why she’d be so upset about me taking her shopping.
Her damn lower lip even started trembling. I released her hand and cupped her chin. “Trace, did you not hear anything I just said?”
Tears pooled in her eyes. She tried to jerk free from me again.
I wrapped my arms around her body and sighed into her hair, allowing myself one selfish moment where we really were just normal college kids out shopping, and I was the guy who wanted to kiss her lips, caress her face.
“You are… impossible.”
She slumped in my arms, so the hug must have been a good call, which was a relief, considering I wasn’t sure if she still hated me.
One of my guys was staring at me like I’d completely lost my shit. Then again, the last time we’d had a pow-wow, I’d been cleaning my father’s blood off my hands. So yeah, he was probably a bit stunned. “Mason, don’t follow so close, alright?”
“Of course, sir,” he mumbled, stepping back and motioning for the rest of the men to do the same.
“Sir?” Trace’s muffled voice sounded against my shirt.
“It’s a respect thing.”
“You’re like twenty.” She pulled back, eyes narrowing.
I felt myself tense before flashing a smile. “Right. Twenty.” I looked away so she wouldn’t see the truth, wouldn’t pry. “Age doesn’t really matter in my world.”
“Your world?”
I stopped in front of the store I was looking for.
“Prada?” Her words were dripping with disbelief. “Are you insane?”
I smirked and pulled her toward the store; her heels dug into the ground. Awesome. So now she hated both me and shopping? Finally, she relented, nearly colliding into my back as I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and led her into the store.
Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. I suddenly wanted to give her the world — not just a damn backpack. If her expression would always be that pure, that… excited? Over something so easily given? All she had to do was ask, and I’d give it to her. I wouldn’t even think about it.
“May I help you?” A skinny woman in a black suit smiled in our direction. Her gaze flickered across Trace like she was a bug beneath her shoe and landed on me. Ah, a cougar. Fantastic.