Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(31)

I brush the hair over my shoulder nervously and lean back against the worn upholstery. “Thank you.”

He starts to drive. “Where do you live?”

I give him my address. “It’s only ten minutes away.”

We drive in silence. I stare straight ahead, hands clasped around my knees. It’s somewhere to rest my hands. Some way to try to contain my shaking. An insane urge to laugh bubbles up inside me. Nerves, I know, but it just strikes me as suddenly unbelievable that I had started the night on a date with Zac and now I’m in a truck driving through the dark with Sean O’Rourke.

“You can’t do this.”

I jump at the sound of his rumbling voice. My gaze skips to him. He’s still staring straight ahead, one hand draped loosely over the wheel. It’s almost like he hasn’t spoken at all, except his lips move as he adds, “If they catch you after curfew—”

“I know.” My voice sounds tired even to my ears.

“Do you?”

“That’s why I called you.” I was desperate enough to do that.

“I can’t look out for you.”

I bristle. “I just need a ride. Not a bodyguard.” But then I see him in the bathroom when he walked in on me with Brockman, and my words lack the desired punch.

He laughs hollowly. “You need a bodyguard in the worst way.” The way his voice says “worst” . . . with such emphasis and conviction, rubs me the wrong way. Probably because it’s true. I can’t even name a friend who would pick up the phone for me anymore.

He continues and it’s salt on the wound, “You have no clue how the world outside your little bubble works.” He motions to the sprawling houses we roll past.

“I’m a quick learner.” I squeeze the words past my tightening throat, thinking that I’ve already got the gist. This last week has been the worst of my life. I hardly feel secure inside a bubble.

“Yeah? Well. You’re going to have to be.”

“And were you a quick learner, too?” I lash out. “Is that how you got imprinted? I guess you didn’t get things figured out fast enough, did you?”

The moment the words slip out I wish I could take them back. I can’t believe I flung that in his face.

The interior light casts enough of a glow that I see his square jaw tighten. A muscle feathers along the flesh there. Suddenly, he’s pulling over, yanking the truck to the side of the street.

Panic shimmies up my chest to clog my throat. I’m struck again with the knowledge that I’m in a vehicle. Alone. With a carrier who has proven himself to be a violent offender. For a moment, I let that fade from my mind. I provoked him like he was just an ordinary guy. Like I’m an ordinary girl. A girl who a week ago could get away with anything.

He shifts into PARK and turns to me. All my doubts about him return. I forget that he cared enough to help me with Brockman. I just see the tattoo on his neck. I scrabble for the door handle, seize it, and shove it open.

“What are you doing?” he growls, and slides across the bench seat, reaching around me for the handle. His hand squeezes over mine, crushing my fingers as he swiftly slams the door shut.

He’s draped over me. His left hand is folded over mine on the handle while his other arm stretches along the back of the seat. My chest heaves, pushing against him. I’m consciously aware of every inch of him plastered to me.

He’s not built like Zac. He’s stronger. More muscular. Like he’s accustomed to hard labor and fighting with his fists. I feel his power and imagine it used against me. Grinding me into nothing. A scream rises in my throat and starts to leak free. He quickly slams a hand over my mouth.

My chest rises and falls against him as I struggle for breath. I stare at him, afraid to blink, and my eyes start to ache. We’re so close I can see the dark ring of blue rimming his irises.

“You’re going to get us both in trouble. Trust me. You don’t want that to happen. You think it’s bad now. You have no idea how bad it can get.” There’s an edge of desperation to his voice.

I shake, trembling uncontrollably. In my mind, all the news footage I’ve ever seen highlighting the gruesome damage wrought by carriers flashes before me.

He mutters a curse and I flinch. “Look, I don’t get off on hurting girls. I’m not going to harm you.” His hand softens on my face, his fingers lifting up ever so slightly, allowing me to breathe better. “Okay?”

I nod.

“I’ll lift my hand, but unless you want to get us both arrested, for God’s sake don’t scream.” His gaze flicks to the street, assessing.

I nod again, relaxing somewhat.

Of course. Coco certainly wouldn’t have called him a good guy if he was into hurting girls. And he wouldn’t have helped me out with Brockman.

My gaze drifts to his neck. The deep band and circled H. He isn’t into hurting girls. So what did he hurt then? He didn’t get that imprint on his neck for nothing.

“Stop looking at it,” he hisses, giving his head a little shake. The roughly shorn, gold-streaked strands brush the planes of his face. He looks at me beneath hooded eyes. Something flashes in those pale pools of blue. “Look at me.” A glimpse of real emotion. Not anger . . . but something else.

His hand lifts off my mouth now, hovering over my face, ready to cover my lips again if I start to cry out.