"There's a bounty on you," he says, like that explains everything.
"It's a gas station, Shadow. In the middle of nowhere."
"Don't care. You don't leave my sight."
So we go in together, Shadow's hand on my lower back, his eyes scanning everyone like they might be a threat.
The clerk is a tired-looking woman in her fifties who barely glances up from her magazine.
We grab snacks, coffee, and water for Charlie.
Shadow insists on paying.
Back in the truck, Banshee's grinning. "You two are disgustingly in love, you know that?"
I feel my face heat. "Shut up."
"No, it's cute. In a possessive, slightly terrifying kind of way." He looks at Shadow. "You planning to let her out of your sight ever again?"
"No," Shadow says simply.
I should probably be annoyed by that.
But I'm not, and we drive on.
The sun rises, painting the desert gold and pink.
I've been dozing, my head against the window, but Shadow's hand on my leg wakes me.
"We're almost there," he says quietly.
I sit up, blinking. In the distance, I can see it—Las Vegas.
The city rising out of the desert like a mirage.
My stomach does a flip.
"I'm getting married today," I say out loud, testing the words.
Shadow's hand squeezes my thigh. "Yeah, darlin'. You are."
Banshee stretches in the backseat. "Vegas, baby. City of sin and shotgun weddings."
"It's not a shotgun wedding," I protest.
"You're getting married after dating each other for a week to avoid a motorcycle club vendetta. That's pretty shotgun, Doc."
Fair point.
We pull into Las Vegas just after eight in the morning.
The Strip is quieter than I expected—early for Vegas, I guess.
But it's still surreal.
Neon signs, massive hotels, the famous "Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas" sign.
Shadow navigates to a diner off the Strip. "Shiver said to meet him here."
