Read His Passion for Free Online

the road, bobbing and weaving to get us back to our hotel, but I felt her anger from where I sat.
    “Don't you know who Lars Eichmann is, Cole? What he'll do to you for taking me?”
    “Taking you?” he snarled. “Do you mean saving you?”
    “I can take care of myself!” she shrilled. “Now I've got to worry about my brother being in some psycho's crosshairs!”
    Her voice was nearing the octaves necessary to shatter glass and I gripped the steering wheel and my tongue. I glanced back as she jerked from his hold, sliding into the seat beside him with her arms crossed and her lip jutted out, glaring out the window. Despite the lingerie and the haircut and the makeup that was smeared onto her face, she looked far younger than her age. Like a petulant child giving her parent the silent treatment because they refused to get her a pony.
    “You've gotta be kidding me,” I muttered.
    “Do you have something to say to me?” she said darkly.
    I almost didn't glance back at her, certain that she wasn't speaking to me in that tone. When I cast a look in her direction, she was scowling at me. Scowling .
    “I don't know what kind of rapport you have with your brother, but you're not going to speak to me that way.”
    “Why? Because you swooped in to save the day and I'm supposed to not call you on how ridiculous the both of you are?” She scoffed, pulling the coat tighter. The way she held her chin you'd think that she was wearing some royal cape that draped behind her and there was a bejeweled crown on her head. She was the benevolent, wise queen and we were a band of idiots that were completely lost without her guidance and admonishment.
    Not today.
    Not from her.
    “When your brother asked for help, I could have said no. It was quite tempting actually...because you are a terrible person. But when I looked at my wife's face, and Cole's face, I couldn't say no. So I'm here, saving the girl that would have killed my wife without a second thought. And instead of gratitude, you're complaining.”
    Once I got it out I'd expected an eye roll or an agitated sigh—just about anything to dismiss everything I'd said. Instead, she went quiet.
    I had to keep my eye on the road. If she was to be believed, some armored car would swerve into our path at any moment, unloading their machine guns and riddling us all with holes. But I was distracted, torn between getting us to relative safety and needing to make Brittany understand that pouting when Cole had murdered several people at point blank range was not only insulting, but made me want to pull to the curb and let (or hurl) her out.
    My heart dropped when I realized that I was stealing looks at my brother. That my heart ached when I saw him trying to reach for Brittany, to comfort her and she swatted him away. I'd spent my life pretending that I was unaffected. That pain and hurt didn't even register on my radar. I knew the stony, blank slate that he forced over the truth. I knew that beneath it all, his sister was sinking a knife right into his chest.
    And I felt sorry for him.
    “Where's Frederic?” Brittany whined. “He promised me he wouldn't involve you-”
    “I'm assuming you screamed this order while you were being pulled from the room by your hair. While Frederic -” He said his name with unabashed disgust. “Let them take you. So Frederic's presence is kind of irrelevant, don't you think?”
    I smirked to myself, but it must not have been nearly as discreet as I thought because I felt something small and soft clunk me on the side of the head and tumble into the seat beside me. I looked at the cushion and saw a small white cap. Just in case I needed visual confirmation, Brittany was holding a bottle of uncapped water, her lips curled into a snarl that dared me to call her on the offense.
    I knew the wise choice was to just ignore her. She wanted a reaction. If I denied her one, she'd just stomp her feet and pout some more, but she'd eventually get the picture. Maybe