Page 11 of Fool's Gold

“Fuck me.” I pull onto the street with a screech of tires and join the rest of the evening traffic.

We’re well past rush hour at this point, but the streets are never silent. Not here.

Mind whirring a thousand miles an hour, I’m searching for options and coming up blank. There aren’t many places to go where she might feel safe while I still have a handle on the premises. If she doesn’t want to go to the apartment tonight, then I highly doubt she’ll want to go to her parents’ house.

What a mess.

I drive around until an idea solidifies into place. “What about a hotel? Fancy, discrete. I know the manager.”

He’s an acquaintance from another life who never failed to step up when I needed a favor. Sinclair is a good man. At least, he used to be. People do change.

I glance over at Empire, waiting for her answer. And eventually she bobs her head in a curt affirmative.

Will she ever feel safe again? I wonder at the silent, sullen woman on the seat across from me. She used to be bubbly and full of life like a brightly burning star, ready to take her shot in the career her parents carved out for her. Now she’s struggling to keep her head above the water. And nothing I do helps.

If anything, I make everything worse with my presence, and we’re too far into this for anything to change now. I’ll have to see this through for both our sakes.

The alternatives fucking suck.

The overpowering affirmation—she’s mine—inevitably sinks back into the too familiar I can’t have her.

I finally pull up to the front of a brownstone with copper details and navy-painted frame windows. An attendant wearing black and white steps up to the curb and gestures for me to proceed.

A quick call ahead of time assured the staff to expect us.

Rather than pulling into the roundabout in front of the building, the attendant points me to the space between the buildings and a small side street connecting this block with the next.

Empire isn’t used to the sneaking around bit, not when she’s never had the opportunity to rise to her parents’ career heights. And in a perfect scenario, I would whisk her through the front doors with the respect she goddamn deserves.

But with enemies on our ass and hidden dangers lurking around corners, we’ve got to be careful. Better safe than dead.

Once parked, I round the hood and grab Empire and her bag out of the car. I pound my fist against a discreet metal doorway, and half a second later, someone from the other side pulls it open.

“Thank you,” I tell the woman waiting on the other side, pushing Empire into the dim recesses of a staff hallway.

“Yes, sir.”

Empire stumbles, and I press my hand flat against the small of her back. “Keep moving,” I growl.

She shakes beneath my touch. “This is too much. It’s impossible. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

My heart cracks. “Nothing is impossible. I shouldn’t have to tell you.”

We take the back stairs toward the room, the staff sneaking us in. One of the employee cards opens the door with a beep, and it swings open silently. Inside, a single queen bed is made with white linens pulled into crisp, clean lines.

Only when the door closes do I drop my guard. “We’re going to have to share. I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

Rather than launching into the argument I expect, Empire walks to the side of the mattress and sags down. She slumps forward and cradles her head in her hands, her shoulders sagging.

This has taken a toll on her.

Guilt rises up, burning my throat from the inside, and my cheeks flush. My skin mottles. A red-faced monster with crazed hair and a permanently etched scowl stares back at me from the full-length mirror.

“Come on,” I say, forcing my tongue to go softer. “Go take a shower, relax. Try not to think about it.”

When she’s done, we can make a plan.

And we’re going to need a fucking good plan.

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