Page 23 of Double Standards
I can feel her gaze like static on my skin as we peel out of the parking lot. She doesn’t ask where we’re going. Probably doesn’t want the answer.Smart girl.
The city bleeds past us as the Mercedes picks up speed. I know every street, every alley, every way in and out of this city. It’s my kingdom, and she’s moving through it like a tourist who accidentally wandered into the lion’s den.
When we stop outside her building, I kill the engine, but neither of us moves at first. The silence stretches, thick with everything we’re not saying.
She finally unbuckles her seatbelt and reaches for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride,” she says softly, not quite meeting my eyes.
There’s something brittle in her voice. Controlled. Distant. Like she’s already halfway out the door in her head.
“You’re welcome,” I murmur, watching her too closely, like if I look hard enough, I’ll figure out what the fuck she’s thinking.
She pauses, hand still on the handle. “You know, all of this would be a lot easier if you just told me everything?”
My jaw tightens. “I told you before…”
“Yeah, yeah,” she huffs. “You don’t want to incriminate anyone else.”
That gets her eyes on me—sharp, tired, guarded.
“You don’t get to push, Cassidy.”
“I’m not pushing, I’m just…” She huffs out a breath, almost a laugh, but it’s humorless. “Nevermind.”
Her fingers tighten on the door, like she’s bracing herself forsomething. Or maybe just for staying a second longer than she wants to.
I lean back in my seat, watching her carefully. “You don’t need to be scared of me.”
My words land hard, causing her face to flicker with something unreadable. “I’m not scared of you,” she grumbles, pushing the door open. With one final glance over her shoulder, she pins me with words I didn’t expect to hear from her. “Maybe it’syouwho’s afraid.”
She gets out without another word, the slam of it hitting me harder than it should. I watch her walk to her building, every step stiff with purpose, like if she stops moving, I might pull her back in.
I shouldn’t want her like this.
But I do.
I sit there, gripping the wheel while her words echo in my chest. I’ve never been afraid of anything, not even the promise of a blade against my skin or a bullet to my flesh. But for the first time ever, I feel the simmer of something much more fragile work its way through my veins.
I’ve been sitting on Cassie’s words for two days now. Letting them fester. Letting them claw through the armor I’ve spent years building around myself. Fear isn’t something I’m familiar with—not in the traditional sense. I’ve walked into shootouts without flinching. I’ve stood face to face with men who wanted me dead and didn’t blink. Fear, for me, has always been something other people felt. Civilians. Targets. Victims.
I’m neither of those, so what I’m feeling right now is alien. I know I need to trust her, but I also need to be sure I’m not settingmyself up for failure.
I spot her the second she steps out into the cold, wind whipping at her coat as she battles the change in weather. Her eyes scan the street like she’s hoping I won’t be here. When she sees the SUV, she stiffens.
Good.
The window beside me glides down, and for a second, her gaze snags mine—wide-eyed, guarded. She tugs her coat tighter like it’s armor. I wonder if she realizes how readable she is when she’s trying not to be.
Slowly, she crosses the pavement, like she’s weighing every step. I keep my expression neutral, but I feel the corner of my mouth twitch. She’s nervous. She should be. Hell, I was nervous when I got the letter this morning.
“We don’t have a meeting, Axel,” she calls out, voice sharp as the wind slices between us.
“Correct,” I answer, deadpan. But I can’t help the faint amusement tugging at me. Feisty. I like that. She doesn’t understand yet that control doesn’t always need to be shouted. Sometimes, it just waits, anticipating the next move.
“So, what are you doing here?” she asks, clinging to the SUV when a gust nearly knocks her sideways. I roll my eyes and pop the door open, guiding her to the heated seat with more care than I probably should show.
“I take it you haven’t heard?” I mutter once the door thuds shut.
“Heard what?” There’s fear in her voice now. Not for herself, but something in her tone says she’s already anticipating the worst.
