Page 7 of Save Me

"What was that?" my driver asks.

"Oh, nothing." I shoot him a bright, reassuring smile. The last thing I need is for him to decide I've lost my mind and call the cops. This bar may belong to Memphis Hughes, one of the biggest names in Nashville, but I don't think the people who frequent it are the kind who like the cops hanging around. I've heard enough rumors about the kind of people who come here to know better than that.

What I can't figure out is why in the world Brantley is here. I saw the sobriety chip on his desk the other day. He's a recovering alcoholic. Thelastplace he should be is at a bar.

So…why do I get the feeling that's probably exactly why he's here? Brantley strikes me as the kind of man who tempts fate just because. There's something dark in him, something self-destructive. I saw it in his eyes in his office the other day when he told me I'd have to get in line if I wanted to blame him. Guilt practically dripped from his voice. I'm just not sure why because I'm positive he the men who killed Bellamy weren't there looking for Brantley.

"Miss? Are you sure you want me to drop you here?" The concern etched across my driver's face when he meets my gaze in the rearview this time jolts me into motion.

I grab the door handle, practically launching myself from the vehicle. "Yes, yes," I hurry to say. "Here is fine. Thank you so much." I step out onto the cracked sidewalk, slamming the car door behind me before he can argue with me. And then I take a deep breath before turning to look up at the Devil's Run.

The line out front is intimidating as hell. Even dressed in tight jeans and a stretchy black cold-shoulder top with my makeup done, I do not fit. Not even close. Everyone outside is either in biker leathers and cuts or miniskirts and crop tops. I'm also not entirely convinced I look old enough to get through the door even though I'm twenty-one.

But I press my shoulders back, lift my chin, and stride forward anyway, determined to take another crack at convincing Brantley to help me figure out who killed his father. I don't understand why he's so reluctant to help. I highly doubt he's afraid of whoever killed Bellamy.

The man doesn't strike me as the type who is afraid of much of anything. He's certainly not the type to back down from a fight. His past is littered with the proof of that fact. So…what does he know that I don't? Why doesn't he want to help me? He said he didn't want me involved—and I don't think he was lying about that—but it wasn't the full truth, either.

The simple fact of the matter is…Brantley doesn't want me looking into what happened because he doesn't want the truth coming out.

So long as no one solves Bellamy's murder, the whole world never has to know that the men in that parking garage were his dealers. They don't know to know that one of the most important men in Nashville owed very bad men a lot of money. That's bound to look bad for Brantley's family and his company.

If this were any other day, I'd probably let him keep his secrets. I don't want to ruin anyone. Bella loved working for Bellamy. He gave her a chance when no one else would. But thisisn'tany other day, and she's the one in danger now.

Before my dad sent her to Texas, they tried to kill her, too. They found her apartment. They set her car on fire.

My dad loves us beyond all reason. When we were little kids, our mom hurt us. She resented us because he loved us more than he ever loved her, so she neglected us. She was kind of awful to us, honestly. And then she tried to frame him for defrauding our Uncle Ian's company. Our dad didn't even hesitate to send her to prison—not because she tried to frame him but because she hurtus. He's never forgiven her for that.

So there's no way he'll ever let Bella come back home again so long as the men looking for her are still out there. I know it. She knows it. Even he knows it. He's just not capable of taking that kind of risk with one of us.

The only way she'll ever be allowed to come home again is if the men who killed Bellamy Hill are dead or in prison. And I need my twin. Even when we fight and argue, she's my best friend. She's a piece of me.

I feel guilty that we were fighting before she left. We've been doing that a lot since our biological mom, Marion, got out of prison. Bella doesn't want anything to do with her because wehave Jenna now, and Jenna is the best mom. She loves us as if she gave birth to us, and we love her the same way.

But I still have questions that only our biological mother can answer. That doesn't mean I've forgiven her. It doesn't mean I ever will. But she owes us answers for everything she put us through.

Does she really regret it? Did it haunt her? Has she truly changed like she claims? Like I said, I've got questions. Bella doesn't understand why I need answers…but I do. I told her to butt out.

And then Bellamy got killed, and she wouldn't leave it alone. I got scared, and we fought about that, too. Now, she's in Texas, and I feel completely freaking alone. She has to come back so we can fix it. We can't spend the rest of our lives mad at each other. We can't spend the rest of our lives at odds over Marion. She ruined our life once. I refuse to let that happen a second time.

Halfway to the back of the line, a hand clamps down on my arm, spinning me around. I yelp, automatically launching into one of the self-defense moves my dad taught me. I spin to the side, bringing my elbow back at the same time.

"Jesus Christ, little bird," Brantley grunts in my ear as my elbow connects with his hard stomach. "Easy. It's just me."

"Brantley!" I gasp, my knees sagging with relief. I peer over my shoulder into his gorgeous—pained—green eyes, guilt surging through me. "Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was you."

"I can see that." His gaze skirts over my face, his full lips pulled down into a frown. "What are you doing here?"

"Here?" I stare at him blankly, and then remember where we are. Standing outside Memphis Hughes bar. Right. Crap. I probably should have come up with a cover story because I've got nothing believable. "Oh, um, I come here all the time."

Amusement drifts through his expression. "Oh, really?"

"Yep. All the time."

"Right. And you just happened to be eating lunch at my favorite diner yesterday."

"Exactly. Why are you here?" I ask, trying to sound like I'm not freaking stalking him. Except…I'm the world's worst liar. "I saw your sobriety chip. This is a bar."

He stares at me levelly, completely silent.

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