Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
The engine came knocking around three hours later, after I’d wrestled in my mind if Lorenzo had said Louis Gotti. If so, his anger made no sense … Gotti won the match.
“Noooo …” My palm gave the steering wheel an encouraging pat. My eyes zipped past the faded radio clock, which read 1:32 a.m., to the fuel tank. Oh. Empty. That made sense. Although I capped the credit cards Pop gave me, I’d never driven to a gas station. Heck, I only paid attention to the dash when Simona and I drove to Vegas or Palm Springs.
As the engine choked, Lachlan groaned awake. His bloody, scrunchie-tourniqueted hand pawed his skull. “Ugh, this is real?”
“Yeah. Glad you’re back.”
“Where are we, love?”
I dunno. “Noticed a sign for Dundee some time ago. Didn’t know whether to chuck your cellphone out the window—which I keep checking—or drive as fast as I can so Lorenzo couldn’t catch us.”
“Dundee …” he murmured.
“What? They’re famous for the cake your mom sent me the recipe for.”
A laugh barked up his throat. “And crime.”
I laughed softly.
Lachlan draped his forearms over the passenger seat headrest, his head shifting as he glanced around.
“I just, uh, drove quick. I was too afraid to assume the woman who cornered us was also the one who hacked our location for him. Besides, she didn’t make it.” I gulped. “Maybe he has a team?”
“Could be. Jamie mentioned a lass. She helped him and Jordyn with some work. Her name was Ra … Rain.”
“Rain?” My mouth quivered, animosity pouring through me.
“Know her?” he asked, handing me Rory’s sponsor hoodie.
“Keep the hoodie, Lach.”
“You run cold. Take it. Do you know her?”
I stuffed myself into the hoodie and jean jacket, tense from the crap Lorenzo put me through. “A version of her that died from cancer—his cousin. Not a common name. She has to be …”
“The one you planted that tree for? He gave you a sob story, picked this woman’s name on the fly?”
Silent, I worked my jaw. Lorenzo preyed on my weakness. My love for those who lost their lives to cancer. C’mon, Tash, you’re such an idiot. Okay, so maybe not shouldering the blame for his actions would take time? I punched a hand against the steering wheel, and it blared.
“Let’s keep a low profile.” Lachlan gestured toward the glove compartment. “Check that for food?”
I hadn’t thought of that. I should’ve read the books Simona did. Not cheesy romance.
I snatched out a silver flask, a package of Abernathy biscuits, and a potato chip bag—Haggis and cracked pepper crisps.
“Put them in your pocket, Lassie, and when I say go, we’re gonna run to that motorcycle at the edge of the lot.” His chin jutted to an area half a block away. The store was a triangle shape with glass walls and expanded outward. Some type of twenty-four-hour Walmart? “Natasha, with people entering and exiting, we won’t know the bike’s owner. While I hotwire it, you just look like your usual beautiful … muddy, bloody self.”
My gaze flicked to the hoodie I now wore again. I rolled my eyes. “Hah. Where will we go, Lach?”
“Kieran has a safe house in this area.”
“Are we keeping your iPhone?” Because Lorenzo can track us … and … I-I caused this.
49
LACHLAN
“Aye! The friggen phone stays.” My reply ripped from my chest. Raw, gravelly. Did Natasha not think I’d protect her with my life? “Now let’s go.”
I signaled for her to exit as I opened the back door and stepped into the cold air. Natasha appeared as though she had words. Instead, she tucked a glass into the hoodie. I lifted an eyebrow.
“Your finger.”
My left hand grabbed hers. My blood still pounded from the close call, and her fingers felt small and warm against mine.
The crunch of gravel accompanied our sprint across the street. I dropped to a knee before the motorcycle and gritted my teeth. My right hand throbbed with the intensity of a bass drum. The blood from losing my forefinger had mostly stopped, but every nerve hollered. My mangled hand didn’t want to move, didn’t want to grip.
Nae. I forced my fingers—the ones I did have—to obey. The skin pulled tight over raw edges as I stripped wires and twisted them together. Pain flashed up my arm. Made my vision spark white at the edges. I bit down hard to keep from groaning and tasted copper on the inside of my cheek. Please, God. I kept working on the assignment. Dad had taught me to hotwire every sort of vehicle while growing up, saying, You never know.
Natasha stood on the side closest to the door, arms folded like armor. Despite all we’d gone through, she was … Hell, she was gorgeous. Her mouth set in that stubborn way, a smirk. Bealin’—boiled with rage. Couldn’t blame her.
Her eyes—rich, hazel, and deep enough to drown in—slid to mine. Suddenly, I wanted to kiss her. Kiss the fury from her mouth. I restrained myself. Who was she angrier with? Lorenzo for the mind games? Or me for shouting at her? Suppose she thought I was dangling her like a toy. Och. Whatever she thought, she’d soon see the lad wasn’t gonna remain breathing. He’d wronged her.