8
1114 Words
I mutter, “Oh, screw this,” quietly crack open the door, and peek out.
We’re in an industrial area not far from the airport. Overhead, a jumbo jet flies low, headed to a distant runway with a muffled roar. Nearby, a manufacturing plant chugs smoke from tall cement stacks. Lined on either side of the street are large warehouses, their parking lots empty. Several yards behind me, a dozen or so vehicles block the road, muscle cars and motorcycles that must belong to the other gang.
Bodies litter the middle of the street.
Other than the landing jet and the distant sounds of traffic, I hear nothing. No voices. No footsteps. No cries for help.
It’s creepy as hell.
“Going somewhere?”
Startled, I suck in a breath. Peeking around the door, I see Declan there, leaning against the side of the limo, arms folded over his chest. He stares down at me with half-lidded eyes.
I look him up and down. Unfortunately, he doesn’t appear to be bleeding. “You’re alive.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Almost as disappointed as you were when I woke up on the plane.”
He reaches down and pulls me out of the car. When I’m on my feet, he takes the pistol from my hand, bends to shove it back into the holster around his ankle, then straightens and looks at me.
“I wasn’t disappointed. I was depressed.”
“Gee, thanks. You’re all heart.”
Okay, not all heart. He’s got another organ of substantial size, but I’m not thinking about that.
He leads me across the street with his hand wrapped around my upper arm, towing me along like luggage. When I start to limp, he stops short and looks at me.
“My feet hurt. It’s no big—”
He picks me up again, hoisting me into his arms and continuing along as if he does this every day. Which maybe he does. I have no idea how often this man kidnaps people and carries them across rainy streets forested with dead bodies.
He sets me down next to a black Chevy Camaro, opens the passenger door, and pushes me in. He slams shut the door and trots around to the driver’s side, sliding his big frame into the seat with surprising grace. He starts the car and guns the engine.
“Seat belt.”
“We’re stealing this car?”
“You have a talent for noticing the obvious.”
“Good thing the guy left the keys in the ignition.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered if he didn’t. I know how to hotwire old cars.”
“A skill you learned in prison, no doubt. Will you let me drive?”
When he cuts me a lethal look, I say, “A guy I knew in college had this awesome red Camaro that he used to let me—”
“Seat belt!”
“There’s no need to shout.”
He leans across me, grabs the seat belt, yanks it down, and clicks it into place. Then he grabs the steering wheel and grips it so hard, it’s like he’s wishing it were my neck. We take off, the Camaro’s V8 engine roaring.
As we’re speeding down the street, two black SUVs round the corner and head toward us.
“Is that your men?”
“Aye.”
“So it was only you and Sean against all those other guys? How is that possible? There were like a dozen of them. You didn’t have enough rounds of ammo in your gun. Unless Sean had a high-capacity magazine in his or something. But still, you’d both have to be really good shots. Or really lucky. And where’d he go, anyway?”
He mutters, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
“I’m trying to pay you a compliment here.”
“No, you’re trying to drive me mad.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll shut up.”
He snorts.
“I’m serious. I’m going to be quiet from now on. But I’m warning you, you won’t like it.”
I find the lever on the side of the seat that lowers it back. Reclining, I try to get comfortable and close my eyes.
The car slows. Declan rolls down his window and shares a few curt words in Gaelic with one of his men from the SUVs. Then we continue on, driving fast but controlled to who knows where.
I try to ignore the pounding in my head. I’m more successful at ignoring my throbbing shoulder and aching feet, but my head is truly painful. I hope it’s the aftereffects of the ketamine and not a concussion, because I seriously doubt Declan would agree to take me to a hospital to get my skull checked out for cracks.
“Feet off the dash.”
I bite my tongue and slide my feet off the dashboard and onto the floor.
“Thank you.”
I don’t respond. I’m sure it’s my imagination that makes me think I can feel him looking at me. Me and my legs.
After a long time, he says quietly, “You were right about something.”
It takes every ounce of willpower at my disposal not to respond.
When I don’t, he exhales a heavy breath. “I’m not going to hurt you. You have my word.”
I resist the urge to sit bolt upright in my seat and shout Ha! and pretend to snore a little instead.
His low chuckle is somehow the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.
I must fall asleep, because the next thing I know, Declan is lowering me from his strong arms into a bed.
6
Declan
I
t’s a miracle this mouthy, overconfident little demon can look so sweet and innocent, but she manages it.
As I lower her onto the bed in the master bedroom, she blinks sleepily up at me. Her eyelids are heavy. Her cheeks are flushed. Her hair spills over the pillow, a mess of silky dark tresses I’d like to comb my fingers through—no. Christ. What am I thinking?
She’d bite them off.
Gazing up at me, she mumbles, “I want to tell you something, but I’m not talking to you. G’night, gangster.”
Then she rolls over onto her side and promptly falls back asleep.
I stand at the edge of the bed and stare down at her, amazed. She didn’t even ask where we are. Or where we’re going. She also didn’t bat an eyelash at all the corpses we left behind us.
I’ve never met anyone so resilient. So fearless. So damn…
Annoying.
- Writer
