He snatched the gun from her.
“I let you take that,” she said. Because, for the record, she thought it was important for Cass to know and deeply understand that important fact. If she’d wanted to keep her gun, she would have kept it.
He shoved the gun into a saddle bag. “Scoot the hell back.”
She scooted back because they did need to get the heck out of there. “I need my purse,” she said, sniffing. One did not leave a bag at a crime scene. “And my shoes would be really helpful.”
Cursing, he bolted away. Cass returned in seconds with her shoes and her bag. She shoved on the shoes while he pushed her purse in a saddlebag. Then he slid in front of her.
“I don’t trust you,” she said, voice tight.
“Good,” he told her. He plunked a helmet on her head.
No, it wasn’t good. They needed to trust each other.
“I will never hurt you,” he vowed. “Now hold on tight.”
And the motorcycle flew out of the lot. She glanced back, toward their room.
The mystery shooter was still sprawled in the doorway. So much blood.
The story of her life.
And, even though she didn’t trust him, Agnes held tight to the man in front of her. The lover who’d fucked her. The MC leader who bore the tats that marked him as being part of the mythical boogeymen. The worst of the worst…
But, no. I won’t believe that. I can’t. She’d profiled Cass. She’d fucked him. Her life was on the line with him.
If she was wrong…
Then she was dead.
Chapter Eleven
He braked the bike. “Agnes.”
She snuggled against him. All softness. Sweetness.
She’d killed a man hours before. Technically, his hand had been on the gun, too. So…we killed a man hours before. A bastard who’d broken into their motel room and tried to kill her.
“Agnes, you’re falling asleep while you’re riding a motorcycle.” Something that should not have been possible. He twisted toward her. Caught her shoulders and gave her a light shake.
She gasped.
He’d felt her slump against him moments before and been absolutely terrified. His hand had flown back as he held her in place long enough to stop the motorcycle.
It’s been twenty-four hours since she appeared at The Bottomless Pit for the big, dramatic scene. No wonder she’s collapsing on me.
But her body had stiffened now. She was awake again. Good. “We’ll get you some coffee,” he promised because he remembered how much the woman loved coffee. “But we can’t stop yet. We’ve got at least an hour to go.”
The helmet strap remained tight beneath her chin. “Where are we?” Slightly sleep slurred.
“Texas.” A long, lonely stretch of straight road in East Texas. They’d be stopping soon, though, because he was as dead tired as she was. “Stay awake for me a little longer, understand?”
“I’m good.”
“Are you?”
“You shoot one man who is trying to kill you…and suddenly the MC leader is questioning your life choices.”
