Page 77 of Trigger Happy Ending

“In the next few minutes, you are going to be sent a new ID with a new name. Use this for the hotel,” I told her. I kept my voice calm, yet firm.

A shaky inhale. “How are you doing this?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“Angel …”

“You’re going to be okay.”

I didn’t believe that for a second. But I had to say something to stop her from having a full-blown panic attack. After a few minutes, she’d calmed down enough to hear my instructions—which I made her repeat, mainly for my own benefit.

Something needs to be done about Derek and his merry men of fuckwits. Maybe I should go and find him, end him for good. But if I deviate from this mission, the punishment will be swift and fierce. I can’t risk it.

Not yet.

A light drizzle begins just as I hear a familiar low mechanical hum. I narrow my eyes as Soren approaches, pissed off that he chose this mode of transport. I’m hardly dressed for getting on the back of a motorbike. He’s done this on purpose. Obviously, he doesn’t want to talk to me, otherwise he would have brought the car.

He pulls up alongside the curb, engine rumbling. Without a word, his boots hit the pavement as he cuts the engine. He removes his helmet slowly, revealing tousled dark hair, eyes like a deadly winter storm, and that mouth. Oh so cruel and kissable.

“What happened?”

“Raptors.”

His face creases with concern as he takes in my swollen face. “You’re hurt.”

“Copped a backhand.” I touch my cheekbone gingerly. “But I’m fine.”

The look in his eyes tells me he doesn’t believe me. “Did they recognize you?”

“No.”

“Get on,” he says, voice rough, handing me a spare helmet. He’s pissed off at me still. The second I’m on, I press against his back, arms locked around his strong middle. Heat rolls off him as the engine vibrates between my thighs, up my spine. He’s all hard muscles under my hands, like controlled violence that makes me want to ride straight into hell with him.

“I told you to message me if there was trouble,” his voice growls in my ear through the Bluetooth connection in our helmets.

“I did.”

“After the fact.”

“What would you have done, Soren? Come riding in like a fucking dark knight, blown your cover, and saved the day?”

The throttle roars, slamming me against him, as he weaves in and out of the late-night traffic. My thighs instinctively tighten around his hips.

The bike slows to a stop at a red light. One of his hands leaves the throttle, gloved palm gliding over my thigh. His grip tightens as he slides his hand up and down my thigh. It’s like he’s reassuring me I’m safe now. The way a lover would comfort the person they love if they were hurt. My pulse trips over itself.

What the fuck is going on?

My heart slams against my ribs as he holds his hand on my thigh, only returning to the throttle when the light changes to green. We ride the rest of the way to Midtown in silence, finally pulling into the underground garage of our apartment building.

He kills the engine, plants the stand, and waits for me to get off first. I slide off, pulling my helmet free, shaking out my hair. He swings his giant leg over the bike and steps toward me without removing his helmet. The mirrored visor swallows his face; he’s a faceless dark god.

He raises his gloved hand to my cheek, to where Derek backhanded me. I stare at my reflection in the visor. It’s swollen and already bruised, but it’s not too bad. Soren’s gloved hand lightly traces over where the bruising begins. It’s another tender move. I don’t quite know what to do with them.

“The guy I stabbed in the thigh is Cherry’s ex—” My words stop as his fingers trail down my jaw, along my throat, down to the edge of my neckline, and over my collarbone.

I tense and stop breathing involuntarily.

His finger glides further south and hooks the fabric of my black tank. One wrong move and my tits will spill out. Which, honestly, I semi-wish would happen, but I don’t trust myself, so it’s better I stay rooted to the floor and do nothing.