Brown eyes go wide, those full, pouty lips part in an ‘o’, and it’s too fucking distracting to look at even in my rear view mirror. I keep my sight on the road, just so I don’t crash and kill us both.
“You don’t know?” She howls in my ear in utter disbelief.
“I didn’t plan for this shit,” I shout back over the growl of my engine and the whistling howl of the wind as we fly down the road at seventy miles an hour. “Maybe you should’ve fucking approved me for that loan and we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
As we burn down the road, my mind races even faster, looking for some place to escape to; somewhere to hide out until the heat dies down.
“I couldn’t. I swear, when I put your information in and saw your credit score, I thought it was a bug. Like, it’s not supposed to be that low.”
“Maybe you should’ve just bent the fucking rules and approved me.”
“I would never. I have standards.”
“And yet you work for Anna fucking Ebri and her sleazy father?”
That ramrod straight back of hers — likely a result of the stick that’s been up her ass for the last decade — bends a little; her full lips turn down; she leans into me and her arms grip me a little tighter in a hug.
“Not by choice. They’re my only option.”
“Welcome to the real world, Saint Tiffany. We all have to deal with shit we’d rather not deal with.”
Full lips curl in a rueful smile.
“I guess you’re right.”
I never thought I’d hear those words from a woman like her.
We’re a long way outside of town on a desert highway that gives me a view for miles — there’s not a flashing police siren in sight — and I gun the accelerator. This road stirs a flood of memories of a misspent summer that still brings a smile to my face and, guided by that recollection, I swerve and speed off the highway and onto a road that’s barely better than a gravel track. Dust and stones kick up in our wake and Tiffany screams in terror and grips me tighter. I can’t say that feeling doesn’t make me smile even wider than my memories of that long-lost summer.
“What are you doing? Are you crazy? Get back on the road,” she shouts.
Ignoring her cries, we fly down the bumpy gravel road, until the desert gives way to hills, until scraggly trees dot the rolling landscape, until those hills turn into mountains and those scraggly trees turn into alpine forest.
We nearly miss the turnoff — it’s been swallowed by the forest since I saw it last — but a quick turn and a hard grip on the breaks catches us just in time. Tiffany squeals in terror as we skid and slide down an overgrown track of a driveway. It’s a beautiful sound and I gun the gas just to make her squeal louder.
“You are insane. Completely insane,” she shouts. “Where are we going? What are we doing?”
We come to a stop in front of a cabin that’s held together by moss more than anything else.
I hop off and give Tiffany a hand in sliding her fine legs and scooting her plump ass off my bike.
“What is this place?” She says, wrinkling her nose and staring with obvious distaste at the cabin.
I have to admit, it ain’t much. The last time it was occupied was years ago, back when my friends and I used to hide out here and drink the days away.
“Until we figure this shit out, this is home.”
She gives me side-eye.
“I’ve seen your record and your credit score. I don’t think you’ve ever had your stuff figured out.”
I grin at her and take out my gun.
“Well then, I guess you and I will be here for a long time. But your fine ass ain’t leaving until I say so, and that ain’t happening until I get my money. You’re my hostage, Saint Tiffany.”
Chapter Three
Tiffany
I stare at him, aghast.
“You don’t need to do this.”
Declan raises one eyebrow. Mirth crosses his chiseled features, lifting one corner of his mouth in a smirk that furrows his impressively thick beard.
“I’m sort of deep in it here. This is way beyond the point where I can turn things around. Besides, do you not know what the word ‘hostage’ means?”
“I know what a lot of words mean. Many more than you, I’m sure,” I say.
He laughs. “I’ll bet. But, for all your Stanford smarts, you can’t seem to grasp this little hostage situation we got going here.”
“But you don’t need me. You can just let me go. I’ll walk back to Torreon.”
His laughter grows. My cheeks flush.
“Walk? All the way back to Torreon? Were you not paying attention when I drove us out here, Saint Tiffany? Unless you’re able to fly, it ain’t happening. And here I was, thinking you were smart.”
“Declan, come on, just let me go. You don’t need me.”
“I don’t go by Declan anymore. It’s Blaze.”
My mouth falls open and I can’t help it — I snort-laugh. “What? Blaze?”
“Blaze.”
“But… why?” I say, still laughing.
“Why? I’ll fucking show you why,” he says. Irritation and anger crosses his face, turning that mirthful curl of his mouth into a snarl, and he turns to his motorcycle, throwing open a cargo compartment and pulling out a leather vest.
This is my opportunity. Maybe the only one I’ll get.
I turn and I run. As fast as I can. Even in heels and a knee-length skirt — which I hike up higher to give my legs my room to stride — I’m fast. Faster than him.
His curses drift after me as I
