“No can do,” I murmur. “You wanted to cuddle, Baby. So now we’re cuddling.”
“Oh,fuck you.It was cold last night.”
“Mmhmm. Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep.”
She groans with pure frustration and smacks her face into my chest with a dramatic little shriek. But then... her hand moves. Lower. Trails across my stomach like it owns the place.
“Aro,” I warn, but it comes out rougher than I mean it to.
Then, her hand finds me, stiff with morning wood, and she gives me a little squeeze.
“Shit,” I gasp, breath catching hard.
I don’t mean to react that way, but I do. Full-body electric jolt.
And just like that, she’s up and out of the bed like I lit a match under her.
Smug doesn’t even begin to cover the look on her face.
“Men,” she says, flipping her hair like she’s on a runway. “You’re all so predictable.”
I prop myself on one elbow and grin at her. “I’ll be as predictable as you want. Especially if you keep touching me like that.” I waggle my brows at her.
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile before she turns away.
She stomps toward the bathroom, all righteous indignation and bare skin. But all I can focus on is how her round, perfect ass moves with every step.
The bathroom door slams, and she’s gone. I flop back onto the pillow and stare at the ceiling. It’s gonna be a long, fucking day.
By this afternoon, she might hate me, but, at least she’ll be free.
After throwing on my clothes, I step outside the room. With my back to the door, I send a text with our ETA to the only number I saved in the burner phone. The man I contacted only a few weeks ago is about to be our saving grace. I’ve never been happier to have made a contingency plan, than I am right now. Something in me just knew she was going to need it.
I knew Marcus was going off the rails. I just didn’t know how fast.
Now, every step we take away from him feels like a countdown. I’ve got a small window—maybe hours—to get Aro somewhere safe before all hell breaks loose, because make no mistake: once Marcus realizes I went rogue, he’s going to burn the state down looking for us.
I tuck the burner phone into my back pocket and scan the lot. Still quiet. There’re no signs we’ve been followed, but I can’t trust quiet anymore. Not in this world. Quiet just means the next hit hasn’t landed yet.
Back inside, the motel room smells like cheap wallpaper and frayed nerves. The sink’s running. A bottle hits the countertop, followed by a muffled curse. She’s probably out of hand soap. Or patience.
I run a hand down my face. I should be thinking about logistics. About the drop point. The route. The contact waiting. But all I can think about is the way she looked next to me in the bed. Sleep-warm and vulnerable. The way she smiled when she thought I wasn’t looking. The way her hand moved this morning, slow and bold and teasing like she didn’t know it was enough to ruin me.
She knows.
She knows exactly what she’s doing.
The bathroom door opens and she stomps out. Her eyes catch mine, and for a second, neither of us says anything.
“Breakfast?” I ask, tossing her a granola bar and a bottle ofwater. “We don’t stop once we hit the road.”
She catches both and tears the wrapper open with her teeth. “Is this some kind of field trip? Are we going to play ‘I Spy’ while you drive me across state lines?”
“This isn’t a field trip.”
She rolls her eyes.
I give her a minute. She swallows her bites of granola like it’s gravel, then nods once.
