Sliding her shoe off, I carefully grip her foot in my hand and peel off her sock. Her ankle is clearly swollen, strokes of colour appearing along the edge of her foot and up past her ankle. I tilt it slightly to the side and find the bruising starting to spread to the inside of her foot.
She flinches when I move my fingers over her flesh, gently pressing in. But when I look at her, I’m struck by what I see.
This close, I can see how young she is. Fuck, she couldn’t be older than twenty. Her lips are parted slightly, but her eyes. There’s something familiar about them—the darkest blue laced with a knowing she shouldn’t have.
Someone who’s seen too much in their young life.
I swear I’ve seen them before.
Maybe I’d seen her during the last few months and not realised. It doesn’t feel right, but I don’t have any other explanation as to why I can see them clear as day in my mind.
With a slight shake of my head, I break the connection and let go of her foot. Clearing my throat, I stand up. “I don’t think it’s broken, but you need to get it looked at.”
Grace doesn’t speak for a moment, still stuck in whatever daze had captured us both. She blinks and looks back down to her ankle, moving it up and down, though even with the slight movement, she hides a wince. After slipping on her sock, she reaches for her shoe, and I don’t miss her clenched jaw or the way her nostrils flare with a pained breath as she squeezes her swollen foot back into the grey shoe, making quick work of the laces. “I’m sure it will be fine,” she says, concealing her discomfort but not well enough.
I can feel the frown creasing my forehead. “I’ll call someone to have a look at it,” I say firmly.
I don’t know why I’m pushing the issue, but for some reason, seeing her in pain twists something inside me. Grace opens her mouth as though she’s going to argue but snaps it shut.
Easton watches from across the room, arms crossed over his chest, a permanent scowl on his face. Clearly, he’s still not happy about any of this, but I know he wants answers as much as I do. He respected my father, but my mother always treated him like her own. She was the mother he didn’t have, not after his mum dumped him on his prick of a father’s doorstep when he was four and never came back.
“You’re coming with us until we can sort this out,” I say, and Grace’s eyes snap to mine.
“No, I—”
“You can distrust me all you like, but I don’t trust you either. If you don’t come, there’s no deal.”
The indecision in her eyes has me second-guessing the ultimatum. Without her, I have nothing.
My expression remains hard, and I don’t let any of my doubt show through. Instead, I hold onto the presumption that my threat and her need for what I can give is enough to outweigh anything else.
Seconds tick by, feeling like minutes as I wait, and my patience hangs on by a thread. Grace searches my face, looking for what, I’m not sure.
“Okay,” she says quietly.
The coil around my stomach loosens enough I feel an internal sigh of relief.
Ready to get out of here for good, I reach for Grace’s backpack.
“No!” Her arm shoots out, stopping me before I make contact. “I can handle it.”
“Suit yourself.” I turn and walk towards the door, stopping beside Easton.
“Do you really think she knows anything?” Scepticism bleeds from his voice.
“I don’t know. But I have to find out one way or the other.”
He doesn’t respond but nods after a moment and looks over my shoulder as Grace comes up behind us.
“Don’t even think about running,” he threatens as we exit the apartment.
There’s no sign of the guys who were out front when we arrived. Luckily for them, Easton’s Mustang is still where he left it and in mint condition.
Opening the door for Grace, I slide in after her. There’s no way I’m taking my eyes off her until I get what I need, even if it means forcing myself into the too-small backseat.
The engine roars to life, and Easton puts the car in gear. “Take us to Obsidian.”
We’ll organise these damn documents, then I’m going to get some answers.