She walked for damn near thirty feet before she looked back up again.
“Didn’t anyone teach you how to be safe?” I muttered to myself.
I watched her take out a key and shove it into the car door in order to unlock it. Who in the fuck used actual keys any longer? How old was that fucking car in the first place? I didn’t like the condition of it. It couldn’t have been safe. Hell, it didn’t even come with a key fob, what the hell kind of safety features did ithave if the damned thing didn’t even have enough electronics in it for a motherfucking key fob?
She needed a better one.
A safer one.
I watched her yank at the door just to get it open. She stumbled backward, showing me exactly how much force it took for her to open that goddamn door in the first place.Probably rusted on the inside, I thought to myself.
I could fix that.
I shook the thought from my head just as the car she stumbled backwards into started going off with its alarm. She jumped a bit, whipping around, her wavy brown hair fluttering all about, despite the way she tried piling it high on top of her head.
I resisted the urge to emerge and ask if she needed help.
Eventually the car alarm went off, and I saw her heave a heavy sigh of relief. It moved that pronounced chest of hers, and I had to clear my throat just to keep my cock at bay. My nostrils flared. I wanted to smell her. I wondered if she had a smell.
A signature smell.
One I could memorize.
Quit being a goddamn creep. You have to get close enough to clone her fucking phone.
She finally sat down into her car, and it moved. A lot. Her suspension was probably about to go out.
I didn’t like that, either.
I listened to her crank her car. Once. Twice. Three fucking times before it struck up. Most likely a dead battery. Or weak battery connections. With the age of her vehicle, it could mean literally anything. Her alternator could be fucking up, for fuck’s sake.
I could fix that stuff, though.
I watched as she pulled out of the parking lot. I steadied myself on my bike, kicking my feet off the handlebars and kicking up the kickstand. I kept my attention on her as she slithered through the parking garage toward the exit. However, before I managed to slink out of the shadows to follow her, someone beat me to the punch.
In a blacked-out town car with no headlights on.
“Oh, absolutely fucking not,” I growled.
Despite the fact that I wanted to rev my engine in an attempt to catch her attention, I stayed silent. Well, as silent as I could stay with a damn motorcycle. I had to wait until both her and the blacked-out vehicle following her were out of the garage before I made my assent from the garage.
But luckily, my girl had a shit vehicle.
Which meant she drove it carefully.
She’s not your girl, you freak.
I really wanted to shoot the voice in my head sometimes.
I kept a good distance behind the blacked-out car. Every single shred of my military training kicked in, especially with regard to tracking enemies. I kept four car lengths behind. I didn’t do anything that would pull attention to me. I didn’t speed. I didn’t blast my music. It was easy to spot Jasmine’s brake lights, mostly because they were this odd purple-ish red color. I wasn’t sure what caused the discoloration, but every time she had to put on the brakes for something, I knew where she was in traffic.
So I turned off into an alleyway to give the blacked-out car a break.
I couldn’t let anyone clock the fact that I was following them. Or let onto whoever was driving the vehicle that they were being followed as well. Most civilians didn’t pay enough attention on the road to ping whether or not they were being followed, thoughI knew some women liked to check simply because it was the world we lived in.
Jasmine apparently had no such desire.
Or someone had never loved her enough to teach her that she needed to do that shit.
