If she only knew how comments like that spear me. The last thing I want is to have any sort of kin relationship—fictitious or not—hinted at. The fact that she’s eight years younger than me, younger than Ella and Audrey would be, and the little sister of my closest friends is hard enough to reconcile.
“Do not say another word right now, Little Moon,” I order, heaving her backpack over my shoulder and grabbing her hand to guide her to the fire escape ladder, which is thankfully on a deserted side of the building.
Predictably, she ignores my demand and spews her nonsensical logic. “You’re sexy when you’re brooding. Not that your little sis should tell you that, but regardless, this is uncalled for. I did you a favor by making it easy. I could’ve gone anywhere.”
“Stop talking and watch your footing.” I turn around and step onto the first rung, moving down a few more to make room for her to place herself in front of me, between my arms. “Swift and steady.”
“Yeah.” She cackles, the sound echoing off the roof and parked cars and glowing light poles to enwrap us in her carefree spirit, which is utterly misplaced in this situation. “I think I can manage a ladder.You know, since I just shimmied up a two-story wall and crawled across a beam and through duct work to reach you.”
My veins are on fire as that vision reenters my mind. I groan. “Let’s not discuss that now. I am barely keeping it together. And lower your voice. You climbed up that wall because you were escaping homicidal assholes. Remember?”
“Oh, I remember.” She balks, glancing over her shoulder at me with a dubious gape while we hang on the side of the building, taking one rung at a time. “This fuming thing you’ve got going on is insulting. You should be thanking me. Not only did I flee those pricks seamlessly, but I also gave you an easy out if you wanted to get rid of me. That was a dose of freedom, Ty. A gift. A spoonful of sugar.”
Fucking hell, if she breaks into a Mary Poppins song, I’m going to become seriously unhinged. Ivy would, no doubt, mention how ironic it is that we’re on a roof—or leaving one—while I’m entertaining that thought. She’d probably grace us with a rendition of “Step in Time.” At any other moment, that would bring a smile to my face. Not now.
“Rena …” My jaw locks, teeth clenched over the hole I’ve gnawed in my bottom lip.
“Are you afraid of heights?” Her words are laced with mirth as she flicks some dust off her shoulder and heckles me with a tap of her foot against the metal ladder. “Is that why you’re freaking out?”
Jesus, she’s cute. Too bad I’m ready to whip her ass into submission and can’t relish her quirks at the moment. I’m also perplexed by her fearlessness. Growing up as a Noire has certainly colored her scope of reality. I’m just not sure if that’s a detriment or an attribute.
Without indulging her snark, I guide us onto the last set of rungs as drunken voices blare through our brief period of silence. Smashing her against the ladder with my hips and chest, I issue a warning, my lips moving against her ear. “Do not move or speak.”
Her body stiffens, and I can feel her heart pounding through her back. So, the fearlessness she exhibits is somewhat of a show. Thethought of her terrified enough to scale the wall of the club ignites fresh fury inside me. Every last one of those motherfuckers will pay.
We wait several long beats for the commotion to fade—our chests heaving in unison, her berries-and-butterscotch scent curling around me, adrenaline and desire crackling between us—and then we hurry down the last set of rungs. Before her feet even touch the ground, I lift her into my arms and dash for the car, tucking her into the passenger seat.
Once I jump in and accelerate, I tear off my mask and exhale a sigh of relief. At least I got to her. She’s with me. Unharmed. Safe.
And quiet.
Crunch. Squeak. Blood. One wrong choice.
No. Don’t go there now.
Despite how furious I am with her, I lace our fingers together and sweep my gaze over her body, noticing how she’s curled into herself—hoodie off and unmasked, legs pressed together, hand smashed between them, head bowed. “What’s going on? Did they hurt you? Touch you?”
“No. I lost them before …” She glances up, her eyes boring into the side of my face as I peer back at the road. “How did you know they were looking for me?”
I switch lanes and careen onto the route out of the city. “The bartender alerted me.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” Her voice is small now. Tentative. “Vic and Kipper wanted me to stay sitting at the bar. But those guys were such creeps. They thought I knew where their friend was and didn’t believe me when I said I hadn’t seen him. Maybe I should’ve alerted security, but the bouncers were unarmed, and it was so crowded. They were taxed. And I got nervous because I noticed those guys fanning out, manning the exits.”
“Sorry about that,” I mutter, shouldering the responsibility for that fiasco even though it wouldn’t have touched her had she stayed put.
“Why are you—” She abandons her question abruptly,examining me, like the answer is written on my face. It’s not, but she still grasps it. “Did you do something to that guy who’d tried to hurt me?”
“The one who fucking hit you?”
An irritated breath tumbles from her lips. “He didn’t hit me. He smashed me into the wall when I tried to get away from him, and I pummeled him with a palm strike. But, yeah, that one.”
I may not have been able to see it, but she definitely rolled her eyes. A palpable gesture of defiance, escalating the agitation in my muscles that I was attempting to diminish.
“Yep,” I bark through gritted teeth. “Killed him.”
She shrugs her shoulders and tucks her knees against her chest, her arm coiling around them. “Well, I get that. Is that where you disappeared to last night?”
I offer her a quick sidelong glance. “Yes.”
