38 Nikki

Why the hell am I so angry?

My arms cross at my chest and I use the excuse of being cold, but I am anything but. Who the hell is Cassandra? And why is there a picture of her on his phone as a background? What is she ten?

Green is clearly not my color.

“Nikki?” I turn and look over at Landen, who is staring over at me and lifting his chin up. Landen is the youngest of the men paid to watch over both Bronson and me. Where Rand and Jim are clearly somewhere in their late forties, Landen must be somewhere closer to my age. “Are you getting out of the car?”

I turn and notice Bronson is not only no longer in his seat, but his massive frame is taking up my side of the car, holding the door open for me while other’s honk out their aggression at us pulling over on the side of the road.

Dinner. Right.