Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 167204 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 557(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167204 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 557(@300wpm)
“And what happens to me if you’re lying?”
I know she’s just trying to make me see her side of things here, but I don’t need her to. I can see it. It just doesn’t matter. I know my intentions, and I don’t have time to reassure her until she believes them, too.
So, I’m a little meaner than I probably need to be when I look her directly in the eyes and say, “Nothing worse than what’s gonna happen if you run from me again and I catch you.”
Her eyes widen.
I don’t wait for a response.
I turn and head back the way we just came, and a second later, I hear her reluctantly following after me.
I still have enough of a hard-on that it pisses me off. I don’t know what the fuck happened back there. I’ve never lost control like that before. I’m smarter than that.
That’s how fucking idiots operate, acting first and thinking later.
I’m no better than fucking Kyle, probably back at his clubhouse with his idiot friends sulking while the girl who could put their asses behind bars runs free.
The disdain I feel for those fuckers neutralizes the arousal pretty quickly.
By the time we make it back to the mouth of the forest, Shane’s here. His black BMW slows to a stop. I open the back door and grab the girl’s arm, making her get in.
She slides across the seat without objection and drops her shoes on the floor. I can tell she’s guarded and probably still doesn’t trust me, but even if I do intend to hurt her, she’s aware of her chances of escape—and her chances are even slimmer now that I have a friend with me.
Shane is behind the wheel, but he has a ski mask pulled over his face as I instructed. Realizing both of the men currently in possession of her still have their faces covered, she crosses her arms protectively and sits as close to the door as she can.
I don’t think she’s foolish enough to open it and try running again, but I get the sense that she wants to.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” I warn her.
“Too late,” she mutters.
“Take us back to my car,” I tell Shane.
The car needs to start moving before the girl gives in to her reckless impulses.
He locks the doors first, his gaze flickering to the girl in his rearview mirror, then over to me. He’s picking up on her hostage vibes as well, and since I sold this as a rescue mission, he’s probably a little thrown.
He pulls away anyway, though.
Even if I were kidnapping this girl, he’d pull away.
That’s why he’s a Blue Blood.
We show up for each other, no questions asked.
Even though it’s doubtful they’re still in the woods or that they would emerge this long after we did, I look back as we drive away.
Then I look up ahead.
If they’re smart, they split up. Maybe some guys were chasing us through the woods, but someone else should be out looking for us on the other side.
“Keep an eye out up ahead. There were enough guys, they might have spread out. Someone could cut us off up here at the next street.”
Shane glances at me in the rearview mirror. “You know, I didn’t sign up for a fucking car chase tonight. If I’d known you’d need me, I would have brought the other car.”
“You weren’t my first pick either,” I assure him. “I should’ve called Dare. That fucker doesn’t feel fear. I bet he’s great at driving in high-stress situations.”
“Well, if I’m so fucking bad at it, you can feel free to get out and walk.”
“Just keep your eyes open.”
I’m tense driving past the next couple of roads, but in no time at all, we’re clear of the immediate area and near my car.
Now that the immediate danger seems to have passed, my fight-or-flight instincts settle enough that I start feeling the aftermath of what went down back there.
I couldn’t feel it when we were on the run with all that adrenaline coursing through me, but now, the pain in the center of my back toward my left shoulder pulses and radiates heat. I can feel something foreign sticking out of my back in a few places, so I don’t sit back against the seat.
I can feel the girl looking at me, too. I look over at her, and her gaze darts away like she got caught looking at a boy in class. “What’s your name?”
“Brynn Blakely.”
She answers like a schoolgirl, too. Like she’d give her name ten out of ten times to someone who asked for it, and maybe offer a report about what she did over summer vacation, too.
She doesn’t ask mine. I don’t know if it’s because she figures if we’re both wearing masks, we probably aren’t going to offer our names and she doesn’t want to put us in the position of saying no, or…