His Plan B? Robbing me.
I can handle him. If it weren’t for Naima and the fact that I’m worried about her safety, that when I look at her over there on the couch, I want to rip my hair out with the desire to protect her, I could handle him. I’d have taken him out already, or I would have died trying.
But another unpredictable element just launched itself into my warehouse, and the fear of the unknown swims inside my veins.
Growing. Multiplying. Suffocating me.
Glancing at Naima, I jerk my head to one side. Hoping she can figure out what I want.
I want her closer to me. And she should do it now, with the distraction of the newcomers.
Without making a sound, she slips backward off the couch, and slides along the front of it. I turn my attention back to the three unwelcome men.
The newcomers have taken in the scene, assessing the Suit’s gun and me, backed against the hallway door.
One of them smirks. His greasy look makes me feel like I need a shower. He cocks his head to the side. “Really, Tristan? You think robbing this place is gonna get you what you owe?”
The other man snickers. “Motherfucking idiot.”
The Suit straightens, swinging the gun away from me and toward the two men. “I can get it!”
The oily one shakes his head, lifting his own gun. “You’re outta time.”
A soft, heat beside me reminds me of Naima’s presence before I even look at her. It’s a gentle ripple in the air, an awareness that tingles in my arms and legs. A heaviness pressing against my chest that won’t let up until she’s safe.
“No!” The desperation ringing out of the Suit’s voice lifts the hair on my arms. He sees the end of the line, and whatever that looks like for the bookie he owes scares the shit out of him.
“I can pay it!”
“And you will.” The greasy one sneers as he aims the gun at Tristan’s kneecap. “Right after you heal. You need a message. Boss’s orders. I’m here to send it.”
“Go.” My tone is low, but Naima listens. Next to me, she turns. “Back door. My bike. Go!”
She’s through the door at the same time the gun pops. The sound ricochets in my chest, snapping my teeth together with a painful jolt, and a primal need to flee coats me from head to toe.
I’ve never felt that urge before. I’ve always relied on fight, not flight. It’s my nature.
But right now, I need to be in the wind, and I need to get Naima somewhere safe.
I glance over my shoulder as I follow Naima through the door, just in time for the second pop of the gun, the abrupt disruption of Tristan’s scream, and the anxious voice of the second man saying, “What the hell? You were supposed to hurt him, not kill him!”
And then the greasy man’s eyes lift to mine, freezing me in place for less than a second before I’m through the door and running after Naima. Nudging her as we run, but always staying behind her. Pushing her to go, go go.
The oppressive, humid air presses on us from all sides when we bolt out into the dark night. Our fear pushes us to go faster, like the demons of hell are the ones chasing us.
And for all we know, they damn sure are.
Throwing Naima on the back of my Ninja motorcycle, I press the helmet on her head before I mount in front of her. More than anything, I want to enjoy the feel of her legs pressing against mine, the sensation of her front melting against my back. Because it feels really good.
Too good. Too sweet. Too luscious for me.
I don’t get sweetness in my life, never expected or wanted it. The unexpected twist of meeting Naima tonight has thrown my entire world off its axis.
But I don’t have time to enjoy it. I rev the engine and when her arms squeeze tight around my waist, I place one hand over hers and pull out of the parking lot.
Too fast.
I don’t have a destination, I just know I need to get as far away from the G-Ring as I can, and then I need to circle. I search for a tail in the mirror as I weave through the city, cruising through downtown and then heading toward the outskirts.
While we ride, the girl behind me keeps a tight, fast hold. She must be getting sore, we’ve been riding for about twenty minutes, but she doesn’t loosen her grip.
For a second, I just let myself pretend. I pretend this is a normal night, that I met her in a normal bar. That she’s not so far out of my league it’s insane. That the feel of her on the back of my bike is a sensation I get to keep, nurture, and repeat.
That we didn’t just witness a murder, and the pounding in my chest is only about a woman.
The wind whips around us, and it’s warm and loud. My hair blows wild across my face, but I focus on the outline of the cityscape in the distance. The night creeps in to meet the lights of uptown, two opposites attracting in a way that reminds me of Naima and me.
I pull over along a quiet stretch of road. Killing the engine, I glance over my shoulder at Naima. She relents on her death grip, her muscles relaxing as she releases me, slow and unsure, and removes the helmet from her head. Her wide eyes blink slowly, and the shaking in her hands draws my gaze.
“Shit.” Dismounting the Ninja, I pull her from the bike and pull her small, curved body against me. Her entire frame trembles against mine, and she takes a huge, shuddering breath.
“I…where are we?” She pulls back, glancing around us with wide eyes. The pale moonlight combined with the streetlamp beside us work together to silhouette her face, letting me see
