In a fuck-him-for-thinking-that-shit kind of way.
“I confess, I’m new to town and don’t know the roads or the speed limits,” he murmurs.
I can tell that he’s lying. And again, he thinks he’s being cute as fuck. Or funny. Either way, I don’t give a shit. I’m ready to end him and call it good right here, but I don’t. Something makes me hesitate.
“I’ll believe you’re new in town, but that’s about it. You knew the speed limit and knew I had lights and sirens on behind you. License and registration, right now, and if I were you, I’d hand it to me with a big smile.”
As he begins to reach over to the glove box, I take my gun out of my hip holster and lift it slightly. I watch as he reaches over and pops open the glove box. Right there, sitting in that box, is a gun. I should press my gun against his temple and make him get out of the car, but I don’t.
At second glance, he doesn’t reach for the gun. But what I do notice is that his suit isn’t like the guys’ with the Front mob family. This suit is luxurious. He’s not just some peon. He is someone big, or at the very least someone who enjoys spending money and has the money to enjoy spending.
He doesn’t even touch the gun. Instead, he takes the piece of paper on top, closes the door, and faces me while handing it to me. He jerks his chin in my direction, his eyes finding mine. I wonder if he’s going to say something about the gun, but he doesn’t, and neither do I.
I don’t give a fuck if someone wants to have a gun in their car, and obviously, he’s a man who feels the need to have one. I’ve got three on me right now and a couple in my car. I get it. But I’m also not going to let him shoot me if that was his prerogative. I have a feeling it’s not, at least not yet anyway.
“So you’re not from here. You here on vacation?” I ask as I look over his information.
“Sure,” he murmurs.
A lie.
“Stay here,” I demand.
I walk back to my car, sit down, and start typing his name and information into the computer as I wait for it to pull up any wants and warrants. Nothing pops up, and the nothing is too clean of a nothing. His shit has been scrubbed.
Interesting.
I clear my throat. As much as I want to haul his ass in for reckless driving, I decide against it. Standing from the car, I walk back to his, thrusting my hand forward slightly to return his information to him.
“Slow it down through Thunder Rock,” I murmur. “Also, don’t take this car down this road. You’ll ruin it. Get back on the main road and slow the fuck down. Next time I need to pull you over, I’m taking you in,” I warn.
His smile doesn’t fade. He thanks me, but there is something about him I don’t like. It’s not the fancy car nor the reckless way he was driving. It’s his smirk, his focus on me, and the way he acts as if he’s untouchable. Maybe he is in Nevada, but he is not here in Thunder Rock, and he is definitely not with the Vicious Reapers.
“Thank you, officer. I hope you have a safe night.”
Dipping my chin slightly, I take a step backward before I head back toward my car. I watch as he pulls away, a little slower than he was driving earlier, but not much. I lean back in my seat and wonder who the fuck that just was in my town.
I think about calling Bullet to ask if he recognizes his name, but don’t. There was something off with him. Something I did not like at all. I have a feeling I’ll see him again, but I’m not sure I want to.
CHAPTER TEN
MILLIE
Looking out my window,I wonder if I should go ahead and leave town now. I can feel the impending doom. It’s getting bigger, or at least more consuming. Maybe he’s getting closer, and my body can just feel it, or maybe it’s because I had sex with Axton.
Damn, that was great.
It left me wanting so much more. Beyond more.
And I know that is the last thing that should be on my mind—more with Axton. But it’s there, front and center. Nothing could make me forget about what we did, and at the same time, nothing could make me hate it or feel bad about it.
Then there was the visit from Daisy.
I’m still not sure how I feel about any of that. I don’t know if I should be angry or okay with the way it went. I wasn’t lying to her when I essentially told her it was all water under the bridge, but that doesn’t mean I can stop thinking about all thewhat-ifsthat could have been.
Eighteen-year-old me would have come back had I thought that Axton missed me. Had I thought he wanted me even a little bit. But hearing her say that he was already fucking other women, that he had fucked her, that she was sleeping in his bed night after night, it stung.
It was hurtful even if it was the truth, and she knew it, which is why she said it to me. It wounded my pride, and I knew I couldn’t come back. I knew I wouldn’t be able to see any of that. Not with the way I loved him. I would have died if I had seen him touch anyone else.
