TWENTY
Torres didn’t get a choice about being put in the car. His hands and ankles were tied, and he was given a shot to make sure he was easy to maneuver. Strike packed up, leaving her to sleep in the front seat. She was already out by the time they got moving.
When she woke up, the sun was intrusive, blazing through the windshield. Rora whimpered and turned her head to bury her face in Strike’s groin. But it was only after he reacted to her squirming that she realized she was rubbing her face on his d**k through his jeans.
“You woke up in a good mood,” Strike said, his fingers drifting through her hair.
Choosing to let her eyes close against the light, she rolled to her back and smiled up at him. “Killed anyone today?”
“Not yet,” he said, his wrist resting on the top of the wheel. “
