Page 6 of Save Me

I'm not sure what happened then that prompted him to turn his life around, but he did. He went to work for their record label, made a small fortune. And he's been sober ever since.

People have been tearing him apart since Bellamy was murdered, claiming the men who did it were looking for Brantley. For some reason, he hasn't put out a statement clearing his name. But it seems highly unlikely that he's responsible for what happened to his dad. I'm missing pieces—important pieces as to why he's not clearing his name. I'm just not sure what they are yet.

He knows, though. Everyone answer I need, he has.

It's irritating as hell that he doesn't want to give them to me. Contrary to his belief, I'm not a little girl. And I don't need to be protected. What I need is my sister home safely. One way or another, I'm going to help make it safe for her.

A slow smile spread across his face. "You wake up on the wrong side of your princess bed today, little bird?"

"Nope. My day was going wonderful until your shadow darkened it." I bat my lashes at him. "It'll be wonderful again as soon as you go away."

I'm a liar. I did come here hoping to run into him. He eats lunch here most days…and I've been feeling particularly irritated about the way he kicked me out of his office two days ago. I need his help.

"Oh, so now that you know I'm not going to help you, you don't want to talk to me?" he asks.

"No. I don't want to talk to you because you kicked me out of your office."

He has the good grace to grimace like he regrets doing that. "It was for your own good, Isla," he says quietly. "You don't know what you're trying to get mixed up in."

"I'm not trying to get mixed up in anything. I'm trying to bring my sister back home where she belongs." I drop my half-eaten sandwich back onto the tray. "But you don't care about that, so if you'll excuse me…" I hop up, trying to slide past him.

He plants himself directly in my path. "Leave it alone, little bird. Before you get yourself hurt."

I have no intention of dropping it. I can't. If it were me, Bella would do the same thing I'm trying to do. It's always been the two of us against the world. That didn't change just because our dad sent her to a bodyguard in Texas.

"I wouldn't get hurt if you'd help me."

Brantley mutters a curse, scowling at me. But not before I see the split second of hesitation in his eyes. I think he wants to help me, but for some reason, he's determined not to do it. There's something he doesn't want people to know. And I think he's worried about whatever it is getting out. It's a sobering realization. And a hopeful one, too.

It means he can be cracked.

I just have to figure out how to crack him.

"Go home, Isla," he growls, turning to stomp toward the door.

I watch him go, my mind racing as I try to put together a plan.

How do you crack a man like Brantley Hill?

I have no idea…but a little thrill goes through me at the thought.

I like him, dammit.

"You can drop me here."

My driver glances at me in the rearview mirror before slowing his Civic to a crawl. The hesitation painted across his wizened face makes it clear he doesn't think this is a place for a girl like me.

He's probably right. Judging by the number of motorcycles pulled up outside the Devil's Run, I'm going to fit in about as well as a square peg in a round hole. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Apparently, stalking is on this girl's agenda.

It's illegal in all fifty states. I checked before I decided to go through with it anyway. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and times are desperate. Brantley has information I need—probably a lot of it.

And he may think he got rid of me by ordering me to go home yesterday, but I intend to annoy the hell out of him until he agrees to help me. Step one, stalking. Step two, convincing him to help me. Step three…well, I'm still working on step three. All I know is that the masterplan ends with Brantley telling me what he knows and Bella back home where she belongs instead of locked away in Texas like she did something wrong.

My sister is a witness to a crime. She's innocent. Yet she has less freedom than the men who killed her boss. The irony isn't lost on me. Isn't that typically how it goes for women? We play by the rules, and somehow, we still end up paying for it in the end.

"Ugh," I mutter, annoyed all over again.

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