Arran's Obsession

2

Cherry blew me a kiss, and I hustled down the road, heading for the busy street at the end. It led down the hill and into town, and just a couple of minutes’ walk away, had the side street lock-up where I’d collect a scooter and helmet for work.

I’d get into my shift then try calling my brother again so he could help me find Dad. Eviction would be a nightmare for both of us. The thought sickened me.

At the end of the street, next to the old church, I peered back, catching movement in the graveyard amid its stones which poked up like broken teeth. Cherry with a man. One of her old boys by his grey cap of hair. She took his hand and guided him away, maybe to blow him on her church steps. Or f**k him.

Wrinkling my nose, I looked away and stuck in my in-ear headphones, a song playing to start my night. ‘Girls Like You’ by The Naked and Famous.

Weird choice, phone.

I stepped onto the main road, lines of shops either side but most closed for the night, still with neon lights in the window. Despite the music, the need to hurry to work, my mind was still in the graveyard. Any one of those assholes could end Cherry’s life with a snap of her neck or his hands around her throat. Any one of them could⁠—

Brakes squealed. Bright lights bore down on me.

Solid, hot metal smacked into me and sent me skidding across the tarmac road. Coasting on the leather jacket’s ribbed shoulder, I slithered to a stop against the kerb, my headphones popping out in the crash.

Holy s**t.

Dazed and in shock, I sat up, one hand to my thigh which had caught the road. It came away sticky with my blood.

A car door opened. “f*****g hell,” a low voice bit out.

I raised my gaze to the driver climbing from his huge black vehicle, one hand to his upper arm, and his dark-blond hair falling in his eyes.

Steam rose from the grille.

Oh God. I’d walked straight out in front of a car. An expensive one. Perhaps even injured the driver from the way he held himself. I had to find my feet and f*****g run.

But the moment I was lifting, he was on me in long strides, and I was going nowhere.

Chapter 2

Genevieve

“Did you hit your head?” the stranger asked.

“N-no.”

“Get up.” He offered a hand, taking my elbow when I ignored it. With minimal effort, he righted me, a deal taller than me and much broader, biceps stretching his black t-shirt.

“What the hell happened?”

I opened and closed my mouth, no answer forming.

The man exhaled annoyance. “That scratch on your leg needs looking at. Come with me.”

“It’s fine.” I should apologise but I just couldn’t.

He didn’t listen either, propelling me along with a grip around my arm so I had no choice but to go with him. He’d stopped his huge black car on the side of the road, parking it outside a pawnshop so the traffic could pass.

Sliding open the back door, he made as if to put me inside.

“I won’t get in your car,” I managed.

“I’m just going to sit you on the back seat so I can clean up that injury.”

I snorted, still reeling from the shock. “And get kidnapped? No, thanks.”

The man’s features twisted into incredulity. He was pretty. Grey or green eyes under the shop’s neon sign and that blond hair darker at the roots. At a guess, I’d put him at mid to late twenties, so a few years older than me, but pretty people had even less reason to be trusted than anyone else.

He planted his hand on his hips, then he reached to extract his wallet from his back pocket. He handed it over. “Hold on to that, if you need reassurance. I’m not in the habit of abducting women who throw themselves under my wheels. Now sit on the f*****g seat while I find my first-aid kit.”

Stunned, I turned the wallet over in my hands. Brown leather. Cards or something inside by the ridges. Mr First Aid and Fancy Car pointed at the seat. Like an i***t, I perched on it, and he circled to the boot.

My thigh pulsed with a deep ache, bright-red scratches across my pale skin and road dirt studding it in dark patches under the streetlamp. I winced, suddenly feeling the hit of the accident. My arm hurt, too, my awareness of my body returning.

I’d never once in my life done anything that foolish before. Let my distraction lead me to walking straight into the path of a car. I puzzled at my actions.

The driver returned with a small, green, zipped bag with a white cross on it, plus a bottle of water.

“Hold on to those, too.” He handed over my headphones.

I hadn’t even noticed him pick them up.

In efficient moves, he took a packet from the kit and opened the bottle, tipping the powder inside and shaking it to mix it.

“This is to cleanse that wound and get the grit out. After, I’ll spray antiseptic over it and tape on a bandage.”

“You a doctor?” I asked.

Without looking at my face, he curled his lip and gave a short laugh like I’d said something funny. “No. Take a breath. This will sting.”

He tipped the liquid over my graze. Pink water trickled down to my knee, and I winced then tried to angle so it pooled on the road, not the expensive car’s interior. The man didn’t seem to care, instead opening packets of sterile wipes. He linked his gaze to mine for permission, then took hold of my thigh.

My world melted.

His fingertips indenting my skin knocked me off my axis. A rush of good feeling, addictive and sweet, woke an inactive part of my brain. I was hot and sweaty, barely dressed under the leathers, and my body warmed all the more.

What the heck was that?