Her black hair is a wild mess around her flushed face, and the blue of her eyes defies description. Somehow, her white blouse and tan trousers still look pressed.
“What’s wrong?” I drawl, twisting the key and silencing the powerful engine.
Her chin drops. “Wrong? What’s wrong?” Her mouth opens slightly as she tries to draw in air. “We don’t have helmets,” she says in a rush.
Helmets? Amusement clashes through me. The real kind. I blink the sensation away, because liking her isn’t a risk I’ll take. Oh, she’ll be mine in every sense possible, and I’ll protect her with my life. But liking her isn’t going to happen. “You’re safe.”
“Safe?” she screeches.
I hold back a wince. That’s an impressive decibel she hit. “Yes.”
She looks erratically around. For what? Safety? There isn’t any from me. “You prick,” she snaps.
“There’s nowhere to go.”
“I’m looking for something to hit you with,” she snarls, her teeth a flash of white between her cherry-red lips.
My dick goes rock hard. “Use your fists,” I say softly.
She blinks.
Smart girl.
I keep her in my sights, noting everything from her rapid breathing to her parted lips. She’s scared. And aroused. Confused about both feelings. “Come on, Rosalie,” I coax. “I’ll give you one clean punch. Won’t even try to stop you.”
She swallows and looks at my jaw. It’s not made of glass, and she’ll probably break her knuckles if she tries. Her sense of preservation must be pretty decent, because she doesn’t.
The hair on the back of my neck rises. Slowly, I turn to look the way we came. Silence. Heavy silence.
“Get back on the bike.” I twist the key, going cold.
“No,” she yells, stomping one foot.
A car careens around the farthest warehouse. It’s a nondescript brown Chevy with the windows tinted dark enough to hide its occupants. The same one as the other day when I was shot.
“Now,” I yell.
She looks at me, at the car, and then barrels into motion, jumping on behind me.
I launch the bike nearly into the air, driving out of Bob’s alcove away from the car. A bullet whizzes by my ear. Shit. I turn between two warehouses, increasing our speed, turning again as soon as I can. I keep to the narrow alleys between warehouses, and the car holds pace, the passenger shooting as it speeds by at the far end. There’s only one way out of this area, and I’m sure somebody remained behind in case we make it that far.
I flip around a broad, gray warehouse into an even smaller alleyway, pivoting at the last building and seeing what I need. I zip in front of several warehouses and right into an open doorway before immediately turning off the bike. Silence echoes around us. Turning to wrap an arm around Rosalie’s waist, I swivel us both off the bike.
Moldy and torn boxes line one filthy wall, while only dirt and garbage cover the crumbling concrete floor.
“Stay here.” I can hear the car coming closer, so I run outside and shut the door before she can answer. It hangs haphazardly in place, not coming close to fully closing.
My gun already in my hand, I careen toward a burned-out steel building that only retains a shallow shell.
The car’s brakes squeal as it turns around a building and then heads straight for me. I drop and roll on the pavement, coming up and firing rapidly at the driver. The front windshield explodes, and the car jerks wildly to the side, smashing into a stone pillar that crumbles almost instantly. I jump to my feet, lift my gun, and keep firing toward the passenger-side window.
Nobody moves.
The car’s engine continues rumbling as the wheels turn uselessly, burning rubber.
I keep my back to the building as I angle closer, gun out, wishing for a blade in my boot. I’m out of bullets. Reaching the car, I use the bottom of my shirt to pull open the passenger-side door. A man falls out, and I step back, letting his head and shoulders hit the ground. His eyes are wide in death, and blood covers the lower half of his face and chest. I glance to see the driver slumped over the steering wheel, the back of his head a bloody mess.
They both wear black suits and bloodied pants, and neither is breathing.
