“Go, go, go!” I shout.
Hunter flies onto the road, burned rubber following our path. Christopher’s fingers graze my arm but slide off the buttery leather.
“I will find you,” he growls loud enough for me to hear over the roaring engine.
I grip Hunter like he’s my lifeline as we speed along the street. He weaves between slower moving cars, putting much-needed distance between us and the wolves at our back.
My hands thread together over his stomach, and I curl around him tighter as he hits the open road. Wait. Where is he going? I tap his stomach with my hand, knowing trying to talk through two helmets and the rumble of the engine would be pointless. He ignores me for another ten minutes, taking us out of the city before pulling over at a gas station and rolling the motorcycle to a stop. He yanks his helmet off, and I do the same but stay on the bike.
“I need to go to the airport,” I tell him.
“Why? I can ride you out of here faster than you can buy a ticket, go through security, and get on a plane.”
“I don’t doubt that, but my passport, laptop, and personal things are in a storage locker.”
He huffs. “Airport is twenty minutes from here.”
“I can grab an Uber if you are busy.”
“Not busy, just not sure of the level of threat you’ve attracted.”
Calling the threat level enormous would be an understatement. Military men are far too perceptive, which is why I avoid them.
“I created a false trail on my phone. But if he’s as well connected as I believe him to be, he will be able to trace mecoming into the airport earlier today, then assume what I did with my carry-on.”
“Which means he will also trace you out of it,” he volleys.
My mouth snaps closed. He has me there. “I need to collect my bag as there is sensitive information in there he can’t get his hands on.”
“Fine. We get the bag, then you’re coming with me.”
“I can fly out and lose them in another state.”
“Why are you fighting me on this?”
“I don’t want to drag you into my mess.”
He narrows his eyes. “You don’t get to choose for me, Ghost. Tell me what the mess is, and let me make an informed decision.”
He’s already made the decision. My lips thin as I sink deeper into his jacket. He has a savior complex that will get him killed if he hangs around with me.
“Fine.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“Once I have the bag and we are in a different state.”
“Fine.” He sinks a boatload of hidden meaning into that one word.
“Fine.”
We push our helmets back on, and he powers down the roads, getting to the airport in half the time it would take me in a car. Bonus of being on a traffic weaving machine, I guess. I only curse him three times before he pulls to a stop in a parking zone and helps me off the bike. I wobble a little from the disorientation as I walk toward the door, noticing the looming shadow following me. I freeze, and he bumps into my back with a curse.
I spin on my heel. “What are you doing?”
He gives me a lopsided smile. It’s unguarded, genuine, and disarming. I don’t like it.
“I assume you’ll need my phone for the storage place? Unless you plan on using your assets to sweet talk the person into handing it over.”
