Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I keep us moving, maneuvering between cars until reaching my bike. Replaying the day that my freedom ended, over and over for her today, had an inferno boiling in my gut. Relating my unfortunate vulnerability to Rosalie specifically had poured oil on those flames. “Get on.”
“No.” She uses her free hand to push against my ribs.
I turn, lowering my head toward hers, fire burning through me. “Get. On. The. Bike.” My voice is a low growl, and even I don’t recognize it. Then I straddle the bike, still holding her hand.
Her blue eyes widen, and her pupils contract. “I don’t—”
I twist my torso, snatch her waist, lift her, and plant her on the back in one easy motion. I can’t breathe. Can barely think. Yanking the key from my front pocket, I slam it into place and twist. The engine ignites and roars awake between my thighs. I enable the launch motion with my right thumb, use my left hand to pull the clutch, and engage the first gear with my foot for a fast takeoff.
Rosalie yelps and grabs my ribcage under my jacket with both hands, scooting closer to me.
I zip through the parking garage and out onto the street, letting the bike have her lead.
Wind whips against my face, and I partially lift, feeling freedom. Finally, I can take a deep breath. Cars honk as I zip between them, noting how perfectly Rosalie fits her legs against mine.
The woman is a natural.
When I move, she moves. Perfect unison. I steer away from the busy street onto side streets, leaving the city. My heart finally slows to a normal rhythm. As the sound of horns and screeching brakes fade away, I notice her yelling at me. Well, against me, her mouth to the back of my jacket.
When we reach a quiet warehouse district, I slow and partially turn my head. “What are you yelling about?”
“You fucking fuck head,” she screams, digging her nails into my skin.
Fascinating. I turn another corner and slow down near a rusting metal warehouse labeled ‘Bob’s.’ I have no idea who Bob is, but he’s definitely not around right now. The garage doors are shut tight, and darkness shows through the grimy window of the man-sized door. Water drips from the roof to the battered asphalt from the rain of last night, the sound forlorn.
So I pull to a stop.
She retracts her nails, pulls her hands free of my jacket, and then smacks my back. “You’re such a complete dick.” Grasping my jacket, she swings off the bike and takes several steps away, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
Her black hair is a wild mess around her flushed face, and the blue of her eyes defies description. Somehow, her white blouse and tan trousers still look pressed.
“What’s wrong?” I drawl, twisting the key and silencing the powerful engine.
Her chin drops. “Wrong? What’s wrong?” Her mouth opens slightly as she tries to draw in air. “We don’t have helmets,” she says in a rush.
Helmets? Amusement clashes through me. The real kind. I blink the sensation away, because liking her isn’t a risk I’ll take. Oh, she’ll be mine in every sense possible, and I’ll protect her with my life. But liking her isn’t going to happen. “You’re safe.”
“Safe?” she screeches.
I hold back a wince. That’s an impressive decibel she hit. “Yes.”
She looks erratically around. For what? Safety? There isn’t any from me. “You prick,” she snaps.
“There’s nowhere to go.”
“I’m looking for something to hit you with,” she snarls, her teeth a flash of white between her cherry-red lips.
My dick goes rock hard. “Use your fists,” I say softly.
She blinks.
Smart girl.
I keep her in my sights, noting everything from her rapid breathing to her parted lips. She’s scared. And aroused. Confused about both feelings. “Come on, Rosalie,” I coax. “I’ll give you one clean punch. Won’t even try to stop you.”
She swallows and looks at my jaw. It’s not made of glass, and she’ll probably break her knuckles if she tries. Her sense of preservation must be pretty decent, because she doesn’t.
The hair on the back of my neck rises. Slowly, I turn to look the way we came. Silence. Heavy silence.
“Get back on the bike.” I twist the key, going cold.
“No,” she yells, stomping one foot.
A car careens around the farthest warehouse. It’s a nondescript brown Chevy with the windows tinted dark enough to hide its occupants. The same one as the other day when I was shot.
“Now,” I yell.
She looks at me, at the car, and then barrels into motion, jumping on behind me.
I launch the bike nearly into the air, driving out of Bob’s alcove away from the car. A bullet whizzes by my ear. Shit. I turn between two warehouses, increasing our speed, turning again as soon as I can. I keep to the narrow alleys between warehouses, and the car holds pace, the passenger shooting as it speeds by at the far end. There’s only one way out of this area, and I’m sure somebody remained behind in case we make it that far.