The following chapter includes scenes that are not appropriate for readers below 19 years old. Read with caution.
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The girl fell asleep against his shoulder before the car reached the highway.
It wasn't real sleep.
He knew the difference.
It was the slack, dreamy quiet of someone whose mind had been gently set aside, like a coat on a chair. Her head rested on his ruined white sleeve, the red streaks in her hair catching the passing streetlights. She smelled of cheap vanilla and cold night air.
He didn't mind the quiet. He had always thought better in it.
The driver kept his eyes on the road. He never looked at the girl. None of his men ever did.
Riley would have hated this car, he thought, and almost laughed.
She would have hated all of it. The tinted windows. The silence. The way the men flinched when he shifted in his seat. Riley had never understood that fear was a kind of respect. She had only ever understood kindness.
