Nixon’s POV
"No."
The word hit the air like a physical blow. Up front, the driver flinched, his fingers tightening until his knuckles turned white against the black leather of the steering wheel. He knew the rules. Everyone in Brown Reed knew the rules. You do not tell me no. You especially do not tell me no after I just hauled you away from the wreckage of your old life to start a new one as my unwanted bride.
The interior of the limousine felt small. The climate control kept the air at a crisp temperature, but it felt heavy and stagnant. It was the kind of silence that hurt your ears.
Scout didn’t look at me. She stared at the back of the driver’s head. In the rearview mirror, I saw the man’s eyes dart toward her for a split second before he realized I was watching. He looked away fa
