“Our best bet of surviving is going with them.” I meet Malachi Hadez’s wary blue stare. “I don’t doubt you’re tempted to kill us right now, but please hear us out before you make any decision.”
His lips squeeze as though he’s trying to figure me out. I wish him luck. I can barely figure myself out. The only thing I’ve figured out is that I care for Electra more than I ever wanted to or expected.
“Get in the car, Rafferty,” he finally mutters, jerking his chin toward his boxy, matte-black SUV as he walks Quinn to the backseat.
Electra circles me, holding out her palm. “Your bag.”
I don’t hesitate to hand it over, which causes her lashes to flutter with surprise. I know cooperating won’t save me, but I hope it might buy me enough time to explain everything to Electra.
She floats my black duffel onto the SUV’s hood, then proceeds to pat me down.
“I have a switchblade. Right pocket. Nothing else,” I tell her.
She fishes it out and pockets it. “Like I’ll ever take your word again.” Her whisper is low and hard, laced with both anger and hurt.
I hate that I’ve caused her both.
Even though Electra isn’t feeling me up for pleasure, my limp dick perks up when her hands skim my waistband and ass before sweeping downward. I grow even harder when she crouches to trace my legs and circle my ankles.
“Really?” she huffs out as she straightens, her eyes dragging over my bulge before narrowing on my face.
As Malachi loads Quinn into the backseat of the Mercedes, I drop my voice to a whisper. “Wanting you was never one of my lies.”
Her pupils shrink in their sparkling ocean of blue and gold. “Doubt Quinn appreciates the sentiment.”
I’m about to tell her that it’s not like that between us when police sirens cleave the summer air.
“Get in the car. Now,” she bites out.
I indulge her and climb into the expensive ride, letting my gaze roam over Quinn just as she snipes at Malachi, “You deserved it, you prick.”
“I deserved a knife in the bicep?” Malachi asks, his tone almost…amused.
Though blood has soaked into his baby-blue shirt sleeve, the way he’s moving his arms tells me he’s probably already healed.
“I don’t appreciate being manhandled.”
“Consider yourself lucky I used my hands and not my magic, Mrs. Caruso.”
Quinn glowers at Malachi. “Hayes. QuinnHayes. Or just Quinn.”
Malachi merely shuts her door before coming over to my side of the vehicle.
During the brief minute Quinn and I are alone in the car, I ask, “Did he hurt you?” at the same time as she mutters, “Can’t believe you fell for an Atlantean.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m alive,” she huffs. “I thought you tossed your cell phone. How the hell did they track us?”
She asks this just as Malachi appears beside me, brandishing a zip tie that he slides around my wrists before immobilizing me with a seat belt.
Again, I don’t put up a fight, for a fight wouldn’t serve me. Our best bet to stay alive is to be docile and under Atlantean protection at this point.
“I put a tracker on your boyfriend’s car,” Malachi replies with practiced nonchalance.
Quinn doesn’t set him straight about our relationship status. I also don’t bother. The only person I want to set straight is currently chatting with two cops. Two malecops, one of whom keeps eye-fucking her in a way that makes my jaw pop.
When Electra beams at her admirer, my elbow itches to jam into my seat belt’s latch plate and then into my car handle.
