“Stop what?”
“Getting all pissy when we both know you need some sleep. I need some too. No shame in that.”
“I’ll sleep when I have the guns back.”
He wasn’t wrong, though.
Each thought was steeped in molasses, fighting me every time I tried to pluck one out.
Outside, I heard Velle and York’s bikes roaring to life. Likely off to talk to Arty.
“Why don’t we head back to the club—”
“No.”
“Noa…”
“Caymen…”
“You fucking stubborn ass,” he said, laughing, as he followed me to the front door.
“I won’t be able to sleep,” I told him as we walked down the front path. “I barely sleep as it is. With something like this hanging over my head? Forget about it.”
“Alright, I just—” He paused as we both opened our doors.
His body tensed.
My gaze followed his.
And there it was.
A car that looked suspiciously like the one from the night before.
We were both moving before saying anything, dropping into our seats.
I reached with one hand to start the engine and the other to strap myself in.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” I grumbled as I threw it into reverse.
“The fuck are you doing?” he asked as I swung into a K-turn.
“It’s a dead-end street.”
Maybe I really did need sleep.
Because a rested me would never have been so stupid as to park toward the end of a no-exit street. I should have parked near the corner for an easy exit in case shit went down.
“It might not be them,” Caymen said, even as we both saw the same blackout windows. And the strip of paint down the side where I’d scratched them when driving past. “Shit.”
“There’s no way to have a car chase like last night. Not with the usual traffic,” I said, even as I gunned it toward the car.
“Still gotta try to lose them. Get down,” he demanded as we got close to the car.
But I was already lowering myself in the seat as I blew through the stop sign and said a silent prayer that there was no traffic coming, since I couldn’t see.
It was all hyper-focus then, weaving up and down roads while trying not to mow down pedestrians jaywalking all over the place.
I’d been right, though.
