The elderly woman pats my cheek, her gaze bright and dangerously eager as her eyes soak in the tattoos creeping up my neck.
It’s always a toss-up, whether the silver foxes will appreciate the ink or not. Since the moment I sat down, this one has made it clear that she is abigfan.
“If I was a decade younger, I would be taking you home with me.” She winks as if her age is closer to my mid-twenties rather than her eighty.
Honestly, it’s hard to tell with all the wrinkles.
“Don’t tease me like that, darling.” Ringing the accent for all it’s worth, I give her a cheeky grin, “You know I’ll be thinking of you the whole way home.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
Chuckling to herself, she pats her bosom with an emerald the size of an American quarter. Her watch is already in my pocket, but I’ve got one more trinket to go before I say goodbye to my first-class seatmate.
“Here, let me get that for you.”
Hopping out of my seat, I grab the Louis Vuitton suitcase stashed in the overhead compartment. Clocked at nearly ten grand, it’s a rolling trunk worth almost as much as the gem on her finger.
Lucky for Mrs. Fielder, I’ve already got my eyes on the bigger prize.
“My husband never once carried my luggage for me.” Dabbing her forehead, the old bitty gives my body another once-over, “Such a weak man. Even when he was in his prime.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Leaning forward, I clasp her hands with my own. Her eyes brighten, the soothing circles of my thumb distracting her from the slight twist of her ring.
“Loss? Oh, dear boy. That piece of shit is still looming the land, hunting for a second wife who will never live up to my standards.”
“Let’s hope he never finds those standards, yeah?” A comforting squeeze, the ring slips silently into my palm as I lean forward and press a kiss to both cheeks.
“Take care of yourself,darling.”
“Oh, I will.”
She gives me a grin and grabs her suitcase with one less watch and one less ring than she boarded with.
Nothing beats first class.
Whistling softly to myself, I grab my duffel bag and head for the cargo hold. My dark horse is already there, idling patiently while I finish signing the customs forms that let this gorgeous machine fly overseas with me.
“Nice ride.” The officer gives me a nod, his focus on the souped-up Ford Mustang rather than the international fugitive standing right in front of him.
The beauty of fake passports.
“Thanks.” Sending a quick thanks to Jasper’s tech genius, I climb into my ride and start the trek to Wolf Hollow.
The low rumble of my custom engine feels like fucking heaven as I leave the bustle of the city and head towards the nondescript coordinates sent to me.
Skyscrapers fade to prairies and prairies fade to valleys as I cruise along. The trees grow thicker as dawn breaks through the sky, painting the rugged terrain with beautiful strokes of orange and red.
I try not to wince as the road narrows and wayward branches scrape the paint of my car. Wilderness seems to erupt at every turn, the vegetation growing denser as the day awakens and birds go screeching into the sky.
The descent steepens as I accelerate into the valley, blowing past the entrance signs and rough looking bungalows lining the side of the road. Not a single soul wanders the road as themorning begins, but I swear I catch a glimpse of movement beyond the tree line.
The sun doesn’t quite make it through the clouds littering the depths of blue, and by the time I pull up to the college, pricks of condensation have started to form on my windshield.
Pulling into a prime parking spot like an absolute dick, I get out of my car with nothing but a cocky smile and a bag full of bad intentions.
Jasper would be fucking proud.
