Is she scared that Ryan is going to call the police? I would be in her shoes. But police weren't what had the woman looking like she had seen a ghost, no, it is—
"Please don't tell Daddy! He will tell Grandpa!" She cries, her expression pleading earnestly, as if she is scared she would get a flogging if her grandfather learns what she has done.
What the hell!
She just killed someone, and she is fucking scared of her grandfather. I don't know much about the senior Blackwell, but from what Daniel told me, he is the Patriarch of the family, the one who made the family business what it is today.
Dynasty is a generational business, but it was Roman Blackwell who turned it into the multi-billion-dollar company it is today.
And he is not only the president of Dynasty, but a man not to trifle with. Roman Blackwell is a big, bad wolf that no one in their right mind would ever dare to go after unless they have concrete evidence, and even then, you must have someone strong backing you up. Since Roman is unattainable, his grandkids are the soft targets.
Ryan, I know, and I have just met his sister. I don't know if the man has any more grandchildren. Ryan is the only one in the news, the most prominent one, because it is rumoured that he is next in line for the presidency when his grandfather steps down.
Why not his father?
Well, that is the same question I asked, but even Daniel didn't have the answer to that one.
"Tristan," Ryan answers his sister's question coldly, his expression still blank. I can't seem to read what he is thinking or how he is taking all these. I am sure it is not easy for him to be responsible for cleaning up his family's messes, and I am curious about how he would deal with this one.
How he deals with this will tell me exactly who he is.
Whoever Tristan is, he must be some big shot, because as soon as Ryan mentioned his name, the blonde calmed down.
"Good, Tristan will know what to do." The blonde mumbles to herself while she paces around again, looking agitated.
"Crystal, why don't you go inside and get yourself cleaned up, and I will handle things out here," Ryan tells the blonde.
The blonde opens her mouth as if she is going to argue, then rethinks her action and leaves the room.
A few minutes later, Tristan arrives, a hunky, gorgeous, chocolate-skinned man, with a mean face.
He didn't arrive alone. Three men walked in behind him.
"Boss," he greets Ryan respectfully, but I saw he didn't greet Ryan as the security guard did; there was a slight hesitation in his greeting, as if he were someone important in the Blackwell family.
Dan mentioned him as well.
He is the Blackwell's family fixer. The one that makes the bodies disappear, and I am sure he is about to make this one go away as well.
Was this why Ryan took my phone? Does he know why I am here?
The thought sends a surge of panic through me, and I quickly look at Ryan. He is locked in a discussion with Tristan. Looking at the two men, Tristan is the taller of the two, but Ryan looks more commanding than he does.
As if he could feel my eyes, he looks in my direction, and my heart leaps to my throat as our eyes connect.
His expression doesn't tell me anything, and his gaze doesn't linger. When he looked, Tristan looked as well, and when they both looked away and resumed their discussion, they looked as if they were talking about me.
Are they discussing how to take care of witnesses? I am not a witness; Ryan dragged me here.
Unknowingly, I take a step back, ready to sprint out of the house should my life look like it is in danger. Unfortunately, I run into one of the goons, and the man is fucking tall like a giant.
"I am sorry," I quickly apologized with a nervous smile, my voice shaking a little. I scoot away from him like a terrified rat.
Whatever Ryan told Tristan about me doesn't seem to please him, because he is wearing a scowl and looking intermittently at me, but Ryan seems unmoved by what has the dark man worried.
They conclude their discussion, and Ryan heads towards me. "Let's go," he tells me, and without asking, takes my hand in his and heads for the door.
I didn't argue and just followed him. I couldn't wait to get out of there.
Outside the apartment, it was shocking to discover that it was raining.
Fuck! Just what I need to end this horrible day. First, a dead body, next a soaked body. I gazed at the night sky as the droplets fell in a rush, wishing I could magically send the rain backwards.
Since that is not within my capabilities, I stared at the raindrops with a forlorn expression, wondering how fast I need to run to avoid getting drenched.
"Here," Ryan speaks into the silence between us. This is the first time he has spoken since we left his sister's house. I couldn't read his mood or his feelings because, as usual, he kept his expression inscrutable.
Looking in his direction, I find his coat hovering over my head. It would shield you from the rain, he explains when he sees my questioning look.
There he goes again, acting caring. Does he take delight in confusing me? First, he covers his sister's murder, acting cold and robotic, and next, he acts warm and soft.
Which is the real him?
"Thank you," I whisper, my heart thundering in my chest. I might despise him, but when he acts like this, I can't help but feel something far from hatred.
He holds his coat over my head as we race into the rain, with the heavy falling on him while I run under the protection of his coat.
When we get to the car, he opens my side of the door first and still manages to shield me from the harsh rain until I am safely inside, then walks around to the driver's side.
"You are soaked," I tell him when he joins me inside the car. His long hair looks curlier, plastered to his head. Even looking drenched, he looks so sexy that it takes my breath away.
I was shocked to find my hand inching toward his face to sweep away the strands of hair covering his face. When I saw the wandering limb, I quickly called it to order and prayed that Ryan didn't notice.
"It is nothing," he says dismissively, and then his eyes focused on me, more intense than laser beams. He is staring at me as if to make sure that I don't hide anything from him.
That is fucking scary.
I am tempted to look away, but somehow I can't, as if I am spellbound.
"Are you alright?"
A simple question, but my heart leaped to my throat when he asked amidst his stare intensity.
What is he asking?
Is it about the incident in the apartment or the rain?
Of course, it is not the rain. He wouldn't be staring at me with this much focus.
What answer would not put me in trouble? Honestly, I am not alright. Who sees a dead body and is alright afterwards?
Maybe the Blackwells, because the man sitting beside me is not shaking at all. He looks calm and collected, like we just paid his sister a social visit and are on our way home.
Saying I am alright would be a bald-faced lie he would see through immediately.
"No," I shake my head.
"I am sorry," he says, his sincere expression, his blue eyes filled with warmth. "Honestly, I didn't know it was this bad, or I would have dropped you off at home."
"It is okay," I whisper, while inside I am screaming, " It is not okay." How the hell am I going to forget the face of the dead man?
"I will take you home now, unless you are scared to be alone."
His words hit me the wrong way, and I snapped. "How do you know I will be alone?"
I didn't mean to lash out at him. I guess, since I can't scream and pour out my emotions about what happened, I am redirecting them.
He raises a brow at my tone, the look making me feel childish, so I automatically utter an apology with a flushed face.
"I am sorry."
"It is okay. I know what happened tonight must be a lot for you—No shit, Sherlock, I grumble in my mind, my eyes staring through the windshield—but you are the one who said you don't have a boyfriend, I didn't mean to make any assumptions."
He still doesn't raise his voice despite my rudeness.
What does it take to get him mad?!
His composure irritates the hell out of me and sends me back into thinking of him as a robot.
"Well, it was a good assumption," I mumble in a very low voice, feeling slightly disconcerted at my loneliness. It is not by choice, and I wish that after this, I could get my life back. I am tired of living this way, and it is all his fault. My jaw tightens as the past flashes through my mind.