Red Thorns (Thorns Duet #1) by Rina Kent

I hit the gas, propelling the car to a maddening speed, not caring that my vision is restricted and I could slam into anything. I swerve the car to the other lane, and sure enough, the van follows.

Okay, kidnapper dudes. I’m not one to be messed with.

If they knew me even a little, they wouldn’t dare to come near me. I’d fight to the death.

Or at least, that’s the pep talk I give myself. The actual reality, though? I might not be able to get a chance to fight.

I keep stealing a look at the van every now and then, my heart thundering and my hands sweaty. My legs shake and I force them to remain still or I’ll cause my own demise.

It doesn’t take me long to arrive at the gas station, across from which there’s an old diner. The car is still on my tail, and now that there’s more light, I notice that it’s all black. Even its windows are tinted, blocking my view of who’s inside.

They’re really kidnappers.

My gaze strays to my surroundings, trying to find anyone to ask for help. The police station is far from here and if I drive there, I have a feeling they’ll make their move before I can reach it.

In my frantic search, my eyes lock on a man exiting his car in front of the diner.

The PI.

I signal at him with my lights and he turns around. Though I can’t make out his features, he’s tall, sporting a black shirt and slacks to perfection.

He nods at me and I rev the vehicle toward him in my hasty attempt to reach him. I pull my car to a screeching halt behind his and stare at the rearview mirror, my lips parting.

There’s no one.

The van that followed me through the forest road to here isn’t there.

I blink a few times, and sure enough, it’s really not there and has vanished as if it never existed.

A knock sounds on my window and I flinch before recognizing the PI’s build.

With a deep breath, I pull myself together, gather my bag with a shaking hand, and step out of the car.

I get my first good look at the PI and he’s nothing like I expected. First of all, he’s Asian like me and has strong, charismatic features. His eyes are black and piercing and his double eyelids, a quality rare to those of us of Western Asian heritage, add a drooping quality to his stare.

His face is harsh and cut with a nose that’s as naturally high as his cheekbones. Not only that, but he has long, thick hair the color of ink. It’s currently tied in a low ponytail, but if it were loose, it’d reach his shoulders.

He sounded young on the phone, but I never thought he’d be this young. I expected someone in his forties or fifties, but he barely looks thirty.

“Ms. Chester?” he asks with a flawless American accent as he offers his hand.

I shake it firmly. “Uh…yeah.”

Stop ogling the man, Nao.

It must be the chase from earlier that messed with my mind.

He motions at the diner’s door. “Are you coming in?”

“Sure.” I breathe deeply before I follow him inside.

Tracy’s barely has any patrons, despite it being a Friday night. Partly because this town’s football crazies celebrate at The Grill and partly because this restaurant barely functions.

Its decor is reminiscent of the nineties pictures I’ve seen in Mom’s albums, and the black leather of the booths is chapped in places. The tables have some doodling like what’s found on high school desks and the lighting is hardly there.

The waitress, a middle-aged woman with killer eyebrows, leads us to a booth at the back.

The PI orders omurice without checking the menu. Ha. They have that here? That dish reminds me of my childhood when Mom used to cook it for us all the time.

“Just soda for me,” I tell the waitress.

“Right away, hon,” she hums, the sound echoing in the distance as she walks away.

“I see why you were reluctant about meeting tonight,” the PI says, and at my bemused expression, he motions at my hoodie. “Black Devils.”

“No, believe me. I don’t care about those douchefaces. I just wear their hoodies because we get them for free on campus.” You sure as hell cared when Sebastian scored tonight.

Get out of my head!

I take a sip of my water and smile at the PI. “Should I call you Mr. Collins?”

“That would make me feel like an old man. Kai is fine.”

Jeez. Beautiful people’s names are as mesmerizing as they are. “Nice to meet you, Kai. Is that Japanese?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. What a coincidence. I’m of Japanese heritage, too. At least, from my mom’s side. How do you write Kai in Kanji?”

“The character of ocean.”

“That’s so cool. Mine is written with the characters of honest and beautiful.”

His onyx eyes soften with a smile. “So what did you want to talk about, Ms. Chester?”

“Just Naomi.” Ms. Chester is Mom in my head.

“What’s your request for me, Naomi?”

I interlink my fingers, then release them and swallow more water, letting the cool liquid soothe my throat. Talking to a complete stranger about this is harder than I thought.

“I…uh…I want to find my father,” I blurt the last part.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“I’ve never seen him.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “I was born to a single mother and never met my father.”