Page 83 of Burn Bright

“Eliot.”

“You can come to blows with Charlie later. There’s no time.”

“Harriet ran away,” Tom rasps out in a faint whisper. “She was sobbing. I couldn’t catch up to her. She’s little but she’s fucking fast.” He grumbles the wordsspeed demon.

My fury fractures into a new focus. “I need to find her.” I pull away from Eliot and turn in the direction of the nearest subway station.

“Ben Pirrip!” Tom strains his voice, which stops me in place.

My eyes burn. “Don’t hurt yourself for me.”Please.

Tom just points to one of the two identical Range Rovers parked at the curb. Security vehicles. Some of my brothers use their bodyguards as private chauffeurs. Riding in their car isn’t the better option for multiple reasons—the main one being it’sslower.

“If we hit traffic, I’m fucked,” I tell them.

“You might get mobbed on the subway,” Eliot explains. “If someone recognizes?—”

“No one recognizes me, man,” I interrupt. I’m not my brothers. I won’t get spotted that easily.

“Yeah, but they might recognize me,” Tom rasps.

“And me,” Eliot adds. “We’re coming with you, whether you like it or not.”

Jesus. Fuck.Fine.

My head spins, but I’m on autopilot. I hop into the Range Rover, and when Tom follows me, he flips the seat to crawl into the third row. Then Eliot locks it back upright. He slips next to me in the second row. Barely a heartbeat later, Beckett climbs into the car and sits on my other side.

As the passenger door jerks open, I blink a couple times to make sure I’m seeing correctly.

Charlie is suddenly sitting in the front seat without a single glance backward. As if it’s reasonable for him to be in this car with me.

It feels so seamless. Like there was never any question. My four brothers were always going with me to find Harriet. My nerves haven’t calmed. I don’t think they will until I see her.

Who’s driving? The mystery is solved quickly as Charlie’s bodyguard gets behind the wheel.

Oscar Oliveira is a thirty-four-year-old seasoned pro, a Yale graduate, an ex-professional boxer, and one of my family’s favorites in security. Seriously, I think my dad would rather saw off an arm than fire Oscar. He’s the only bodyguard that’s been able to last on Charlie’s detail. All the others quit or were canned.

Oscar has a loose grip on the wheel, the sleeves of his white button-down rolled to his strong forearms. He’s Brazilian-American with golden-brown skin and dark curly hair, and I’m sure this is just another hectic Cobalt night. He’s unfazed.

He gazes through the rearview, meeting my eyes. “Where are we headed, Ben?”

I tell him Harriet’s address from memory, then I crane my neck behind me and peer past Tom. Seeing the second Range Rover through the back windshield. Our other bodyguards pile into the vehicle and peel out onto the street as Oscar relays the destination through their radios.

They end up following us though. Once we’re on the road, everyone is so fucking quiet, my ears start ringing again.

I’m about to speak, but Tom shifts forward to croak out, “See, this is why you don’t open umbrellas indoor, Eliot Alice. Bad shit follows. I’m probably going to lose my voiceforever.”

Nausea churns.

Beckett gives him a look. “You’re going to lose your voice because you keep talking.”

“No, let’s blame the umbrella,” Charlie says, sarcasm thick. “Because that’s definitely what made him scream like a banshee for five minutes straight.”

“You were timing me?” Tom rasps. “He was timing me?” he asks Eliot.

“Brother, I love you,” Eliot says, “but shut up. For your own sake.”

Tom slides back in his seat with a heavy sigh, and I crack my stiff neck, my nerves tensing every inch of muscle. “Is anyone going to tell me what happened?” I ask. “I wasn’t in the bathroom that long.”