Miles nods as he finishes his task. I can tell he’s reluctant, and his pensive look bothers me. I don’t want to lose you either is what I want to say, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Tsk. Words are cheap. Instead of speaking, I lean forward and press my mouth against his, taking in the warmth of his breath and the taste of his tongue.
After a moment I pull away, surprised by the hot red spreading across Miles’s face. We’ve kissed before. What’s his problem?
“Pierce,” he murmurs.
“Get ahold of yourself,” I state.
Miles laughs once and smiles. “You don’t normally initiate stuff like that.”
I push away from the bathroom counter and slip back into my shirt. “I’m going to go take care of our problem,” I say, ignoring his statement. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Miles doesn’t stop me as I exit our house and take to the street. Our neighbors return to their porch lounging now that the cop is gone, and I nod to a few as I make my way past. I don’t know them, and they don’t know me, but a basic show of respect goes a long way. Besides, there’s a good chance there are some unsavory types milling about. I wouldn’t want to give them a reason to make me a target.
I get to my vehicle as the setting sun casts long shadows over the streets. A few eyes follow me, but I ignore them as I get into the driver’s seat. After glancing around the cab—and making sure it’s as I left it—I pull the vehicle out onto the street and head for the other side of town.
The dull drone of static from the radio gets my heart rate up as I swerve around traffic. There’s a precinct on the edge of Noimore that will take Castor; I’m sure of it. The real problem is telling them how he came to be in my possession. I’m gonna have to bust up Castor until our stories match. There’s a bridge I know where we can have some privacy, but I haven’t been there in some time. I might have to scout out the place first.
I turn the car onto an on-ramp when the smell of oil burns my nose. Dread grips me as I glance up to the rearview mirror and spot the silhouette of Castor and his blade.
Fuck.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I SLAM on the brakes at the edge of the freeway.
My seat belt digs into my chest and neck, but Castor doesn’t have any such restraints. He flies past the front seat and hits the windshield, back first. The glass cracks and bends outward but doesn’t actually shatter. My mind goes to my gun—it’s on the floorboard of the passenger seat.
I don’t even get a second to react before the car behind me swerves and clips my fender, sending the junker spinning into the first lane of traffic. I hold on to the steering wheel and hit the gas, but the engine sputters and locks up. The damn vehicle doesn’t move.
Headlights and honking pull my attention to the road. Cars dart around, but the big rigs aren’t as nimble. I unfasten my seat belt as fast as my hands will allow and slam open the door in an attempt to distance myself from oncoming traffic.
Castor, still conscious, kicks out the windshield and rolls off the hood, his legs wobbly but steady enough for him to walk. I go toward him but jump back when a motorcycle races by, inches from me. A truck grazes the side of my vehicle and sends it farther down the road and to the side, the scrape of metal and crunch of glass drowned out by the rush of speeding cars.
I take a step back and curse the twilight-darkness of the setting sun. Everything is so difficult to see, and it’s not just my bum eye that’s causing it!
While I move toward the on-ramp, Castor runs for the center divider.
Cars and trunks come to a stop before hitting my wrecked vehicle, but it’s a little too late. Castor crosses the other four lanes on the opposite side, almost getting hit twice before jogging down the nearest on-ramp.
My ears ring, and I rub at the soreness of my tense muscles.
“Goddammit,” I mutter.
Cars honk, the man that hit me asks for information—but I don’t give a shit about any of that. Castor will go back to his buddies. He’ll speak to the Vice family. They’ll know I’m alive.
The realization drowns out all other sensations and emotions. This is the last thing I wanted to happen.
I PARK our new car in the driveway and relax back against the seat. It took all day yesterday to deal with the old POS and then to finalize a sale on some random used four-door Ford Taurus. I guess I should count myself lucky Castor didn’t get out in our neighborhood, but that’s a small consolation prize after everything that’s happened. At least he doesn’t know where we live.
He cut through the back of our old jalopy with a five-inch knife. I should have checked him, but we were in such a hurry to leave the construction site….
A small piece of me hopes he comes looking for me. Miles can’t be upset with a self-defense killing. I run a hand along my holster. Until we solve this problem—or move—I’m not going anywhere without my gun.
I get out of the car and amble my way into the house. It’s empty, which is odd, considering Miles didn’t take either of his siblings to their prep school today. Squeals and laughter soon tell me everyone is in the backyard, however. I change into an easier set of attire, while keeping my jacket and gun, and then walk out back to do my daily gardening.
Anything to take my mind off the fact that Vice family goons could be looking for me.
Shannon and Lacy are seated at
