Somehow, I swallow, but it’s like oil over dust. “Stop them. You mean … kill them.”
In the dark, Gable nods, and I let my head drop back against the seat.
How did this become my life? It feels like I’ve been thrust into one of my novels, and I suddenly feel very fucking sorry for my characters. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s murder, Gable.”
“And?”
I drop my hands to my lap and stare at him. “I have morals, and a conscience and … all the other things non-assassins have!”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s you or them. Is that really a difficult choice?” I chew my lip in silence, a war in my heart. My dad would tell me to call the police, stay safe, and follow the law. But I can’t, can I? “Gibson,” Gable says, and my gaze meets his. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
My lip trembles. “But … I’m bait.”
“Very annoying bait,” he says and gets out of the car.
I scramble to follow him, Motor on my heels, and I cling to Gable’s arm as he gets us two rooms. Pressing my forehead into his bicep, I breathe through the nausea I’m quickly becoming accustomed to since my life was infiltrated by the Flynns. I need to remember all these emotions for the next book I write.
If I survive long enough to write it.
“Gibson, you’re puncturing my very solid muscles,” Gable mumbles as we walk toward our rooms, our footsteps echoing across the aged wood decking.
“Sorry.” I claw my hand off him, and he unlocks one room and nods for me to go in.
It’s simple. A double bed, a desk, an oversized chair. The carpet is well-worn, the pattern long faded and darkenedwith dirt and cigarette smoke that seems to have clung to every fabric surface.
“Motor.” Gable whistles, and the dog hops up onto the bed. He points at the animal. “Don’t die.” The dog shifts from paw to paw, panting excitedly, like he lives for the damn thrill.
As Gable turns to leave, I squeak, “Aren’t you going to tellmenot to die?”
He shrugs and leaves.
Bastard.
As the door closes, I sit on the bed. The springs groan under my weight, and I place my hand on Motor’s back. “This is scary.” He sniffles my face, and I like to think he’s reassuring me, but knowing Gable’s dog, he’s probably making fun of me.
I jump when Gable appears in the bathroom, rubbing the back of his neck.
“That window is small,” he says. “Lights out. Bed.”
“Wait, I need the bathroom.”
He stares at me. “Pee later.”
“I pee now, or I pee on you.”
“Why are you like this?”
I give him the finger and go for the bathroom, yanking him out and slamming the door closed.
After peeing, washing my hands and face, and giving myself a talking to in the mirror, I open the bathroom door. Gable is lying on the bed, one hand behind his head, his eyes closed. Motor is by the window, as if keeping watch, his tail lazily sweeping the floor.
God, how did I end up in this place with this person? How did falling for someone and hoping for a future with him turn into this absolute mess? I’m exhausted, absolutelygoddamn terrified, but I don’t exactly know what will fix those feelings.
Going home?
