Page 2 of Claimed By Her Monsters
“Yeah, well,” I mutter, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Welcome to the twenty-first century. We’ve got Netflix and Uber Eats now.”
One dark brow arches. “So I’ve heard.”
Mrs. Hernandez gives him a pleading stare, and I’m grateful for it. That she’s never given up on me, even after all this time. “Mr. Crane,” she says, “Madisoncannotreturn to that group home. If you walk away now, she goes to secure custody, and I think we both know what that means for her case.”
The room hums. My pulse trips.
Secure custody. An orange jumpsuit and lights that never turn all the way off. I swallow hard. Orange has never been my color.
He exhales slowly, deliberating.
Mrs. Hernandez adds a final plea, “Please, it’s safer for Madison to stay with you.”
“I assure you it isnot,” he says, but when Mrs. Hernandez doesn’t back down, he sighs, “Fine. She can come home.” He pins me with a narrow-eyed stare. “Temporarily.”
His message is clear. I’m not wanted.
Not by him. Not by anyone.
***
His car is pure luxury. Real leather. Ventilated seats. The interior so hushed it's like the inside of a tomb. I push every button on my chair, leaning it back, cranking the heat, fiddling with the seat belt so it doesn’t strangle me.
Apparently my fidgeting pushes Mr. Crane’s buttons too. Five minutes into the drive, he jerks the car onto the shoulder with a sharp flick of the wheel.
“You need to get in the back seat,” he grits out, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s in physical pain.
My stomach drops. “What?” I don’t care if I piss people off, honestly, they usually deserve it, but this has to be a new record. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, staring down at my hands knotted in my lap. “I’ll stop messing with the seat.”
“It’s not that,” he says, eyes clamped shut, jaw tight. “I just…like my space. You’re too close up here.”
Oh. Okay. Weird.
“Sorry,” I repeat. I pop the door open and climb out, cars whipping past in a blur. Shame heats my cheeks, turns them scarlet. I keep my head down, hair falling forward to hide the color, and slide into the back seat like I deserve to be put there.
The breeze whips a candy wrapper across the road. It slaps against my window, sticks, then peels away as the sky goes a shade darker than it should at this hour. Clouds gather, clustering on the horizon, the beginning of a storm.
A few minutes later, we pull off the freeway. My adoptive dad used to deliver pizza on weekends for extra cash, and sometimes I rode shotgun to keep him company. I learned the city that way, tracing neighborhoods from crust to crust, so I know this area. It’s fancy. Legit mansions rise around us, beautiful and imposing enough to make me forget, for a moment, the awkwardness in the car.
I press my face to the glass, watching ghosts and goblins drift along the sidewalks as twilight darkens the sky. Their laughter rings out. Pillowcases swing from their hands, the sides bulging with candy. For a second I hate them, for the full bellies they’ll have tonight. For the parents that wait for them, smiling on the curb.
“Were you going to dress up?” Mr. Crane breaks the silence. “Before…uh…everything.”
I almost snicker at it. This perfect man stumbling over his words. “Oh, you mean before I stabbed that guy five times because he attacked me?”
A strangled sound tears from his throat. My lips curl.
God, he’s fun to rattle.
I carry on like I didn’t just say something unhinged. “I turned nineteen this morning. Worst. Birthday. Ever.” I tip my nose in the air, fake haughty, like I’m above it all. I almost add that if he has to keep me, it’ll only be for a little while. Once the court decides I wasn't at fault, I’ll be gone. Surely even he can stomach me that long.
“So yeah,” I add, “I’ve aged out of trick-or-treating.”
He snorts, and even without seeing his face, I can hear the eye roll in his tone. “Oh yeah. You’re ancient.”
“How old are you?” The question slips out sharper, hungrier than I meant. I can’t help it, being curious about him.
A pause stretches, elongates. “Much, much older.”
