Page 94

Annie

My breaths saw over my lips and my pulse is thundering from the hell we just drove through.

As pedestrians and other drivers stare at us, I realize Rowan didn’t kill the guy. I call that progress and watch as he swings his leg over the motorcycle.

My abdomen clenches hard from how unbelievably hot he is right now.

This is not the time to get turned on.

“Come, Annie,” Rowan says, his tone cold and firm.

The engine roars so loud that it echoes all around us.

I’ve never been on a motorcycle, but not hesitating for a single second, I grab hold of his shoulders and climb on behind him.

“Hold on as tight as you can. Just move when I move,” Rowan orders.

Here goes nothing. Whatever you do, don’t fall off.

The instant I wrap my arms around his waist, he guns the throttle and we shoot forward like a rocket, ripping a shriek from me.

“Oh, Jesus!” I scream as the motorcycle tears through a busy intersection, and even though I want to, I can’t shut my eyes.

The stores, cars, and people blur, and I fear the wind is going to rip my glasses off my face.

We only get a mile or so before hitting traffic, and as Rowan weaves the motorcycle between buses and cars, they feel way too close for comfort.

“God,” I shriek, clinging to him while feeling how his muscles contract as he keeps control over the motorcycle. We squeeze through an impossibly tight space, and I screech again, “Ohmygoddd!”

I press my cheek hard against his back. Where I’m scared shitless, and my blood is pumping through my veins with exhilaration, he feels solid, like no one stands a chance against him.

This man is made of endurance and pure brute strength, and I’m just the girl holding on for dear life while he takes me on the wildest ride known to mankind.

I hear engines revving behind us, and it sounds like they’re closing in on us. Nervously, I glance over my shoulder, and seeing the sedans and SUVs with men who are way too focused on us, my heart sinks once again.

No! Why can’t these assholes leave us alone?!

The next instant, Rowan leans into a sharp turn, and by some miracle, I don’t fall off. My grip tightens on him when the bike tilts so low it feels like we might scrape against the asphalt.

“Jesus!” Panic flares hot through my chest and sends my heartbeat scampering off at the speed of light.

Around us, horns blare, someone yells, a car swerves out of our way, and Rowan expertly weaves through a tight gap between the sidewalk and a bus like it’s the easiest thing on the planet.

I shouldn’t be surprised anymore, but I have to admit his driving skills are very impressive.

Glancing over my shoulder again to see if we’ve lost the men from the Bratva, frustration fills me when my eyes lock on the vehicles. Right then, a few of the men lean out the windows and aim their guns at us.

“Guns!” I shout at the top of my lungs. My eyes touch on the pedestrians and other drivers around us, and I pray to God that no one gets hurt.

Sharp cracks split through the air, making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up while people take cover on the sidewalks.

A man is hit in the back, and when he falls onto the ground, the danger we’re in becomes a living thing that breathes ice through my veins.

My heart lurches to my throat, and I duck closer to Rowan, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

I don’t want to die. I want a life with Rowan in the coastal town he told me about.

Another bullet hits a car we race past, the window that’s inches from us shattering, and as the driver startles and swerves, Rowan has to avoid colliding with him.