I steal a glance at Kieran in the rearview mirror, noting his clenched jaw and the way his dark eyes are constantly scanning his surroundings as if he’s expecting an ambush at any moment.
He remains tense even as we’re on the highway. “You okay back there?”
Mila nods, but she’s trembling.
I look around. “Where are we going?”
“To the safe house.”
He says it like it’s nothing, but I can see the vein ticking in his neck. He’s not as calm as he wants to appear.
“I thought we would have more time,” I murmur, more to myself than anything, as I think of Ronan.
My free hand rests on my stomach, and an overwhelming sense of dread envelops me as I wonder if this is all the time we were destined to have together.
Kieran’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror before they focus back on the road. “You don’t get time when people want you dead.”
Mila flinches, and I scowl at Kieran in the mirror.
“Seriously, read the room, Kieran.”
His eyes meet mine again, but I don’t flinch at the iciness in his gaze.
“No point in sugarcoating things.”
“Do you ever think about turning it off?”
He frowns. “Turning what off?”
“You know… the constant fight mode.”
He doesn’t look at me, but I know I’ve struck a chord because his fingers tighten on the wheel.
“No. You turn it off, and you slip. You slip, and someone ends up with a bullet in their skull.”
And we’re back to silence again, only this time Kieran is the one to break it.
“How are you holding up?”
I blink. For a moment there, he almost sounded like he cared.
“Not great.”
Mila squeezes my hand in silent comfort.
I shrug. “But it doesn’t really matter how I feel. It doesn’t change the fact that someone is after us.”
Kieran’s mouth twitches, not with a smile, but more like a grim acknowledgment. “You’re learning.”
I’m not sure how much time passes before we finally pull onto a quiet street just outside the city with nothing but brownstones on either side of us. It’s deceivingly peaceful, which is probably why Ronan chose it.
Kieran slows the car to a crawl before parking it across the street from a three-story brick townhouse. He doesn’t move to exit the car until he’s scanned the surroundings, his hand already reaching for the gun tucked into the back of his jeans.
“Stay here.”
I look around but see nothing strange. “What is it?”
He doesn’t answer. He just gets out of the car, gun already in hand, and stalks across the street toward the safe house.
