Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
He gives me a curious look. "You sound as if you have some experience with this. Something I need to know?" I look away bashfully. I feel weirdly shy when he gets all stern with me like that.
I clear my throat. "I've seen movies," I protest lamely.
"Have you ever seen how easily a semi sends a motorcycle careening to certain death?" he asks, his accent thicker and more pronounced when he's lecturing me.
"Oh, ouch," I say with a grimace.
"Yeah. And anyway, you let me worry about a replacement. You worry about what you want for dinner."
"At this point, I would eat microwaved mac and cheese, or one of those nasty burritos you find at a truck stop."
He chuckles at that, and a shiver of delight glides through me. I made him chuckle.
"We can do better than that," he says. "But first, let's get some distance between us and the people who were following us... after we get a new set of wheels."
He pulls off the highway and into a rest stop, parking as deeply in the middle of the huge, crowded parking lot as he can. I don't think we have anything to take with us, but he quietly takes out several guns and rounds of ammunition, tucking them into a duffel bag he's stored under the front seat. It's a stark reminder that we aren't normal, this is hardly a road trip for fun, and not only are we being pursued, he says I'm in danger. If he's with me, that means both of us are.
"Nicolai," I say in awe, looking at the pile of weapons and ammunition he's loaded into the black bag, zipped, and slung across his chest.
He only looks at me. Holds my gaze for long seconds, and I stare back into the depths of his eyes, before he reaches a hand to the side of my face and draws his thumb down the side of my cheek. Something shifts in me then, seeing the real man behind the mask. The one who's risked everything to protect me.
"Trust me," he says into my ear.
It's a physical act, I think, trusting someone. It's more than letting go of a mental road block. It's releasing a burden you carry, giving the weight to someone else. And when I make that decision... when I tell him I trust him... I feel somehow a little lighter.
We go into the rest area together, and he buys snacks from the vending machine. I freshen up in the bathroom, then we head back to the main lot. He fiddles on his phone and finally points to a car. "There," he says, pointing to a car that's way up in the front of the lot.
"Why that one?"
"It's parked up front. Belongs to an employee who works here, who won't realize it's gone until his shift is up, which is in..." he checks his phone again. "Eight more hours. Locks are easy to disengage, and the windows are tinted."
"How'd you know all that?" I ask in awe.
"Narcissistic social media makes it easy," he mutters, but say nothing else. I shrug, then follow him.
He keeps his head down and I follow him, all casual, like we're not about to steal a car and run for our lives. Like I'm not the daughter of one of America's most wanted, and he's not my bodyguard carrying a bag of weapons fit for a small army. Like this is all just normal.
And for one brief moment, I wish it was. God, how I wish it was.
"Passenger side door," he orders low, while he pulls something out of his pocket. Gliding it into the window, the lock pops up effortlessly. He shoots me a wink that goes straight to my panties, opens the door, and hits the auto-lock. "In," he says. "Now."
I obey, sliding into the seat and fastening my seatbelt while he takes his seat, then reaches under the steering wheel and yanks some wires out. I look out the window, and suddenly my pulse begins to race. He's about to steal a car, we just ditched one, and someone tried to run us off the road.
Is anyone else after us? God, of course they are.
He guns the engine to life, adjusts the seat for his large frame, and puts the car in drive. I look out the window, expecting someone to chase after us waving a fist or something, but no one notices. No one cares.
We drive for a while in silence, and I begin to think of what he's said to me. It's my birthday. He's getting me something to eat. And I'm legal now.
But what happens after today? Where are we going? How will we hide?
"Nicolai? Where are we going?"
"Boston," he says shortly, his jaw tensing.
I don't know anything about Boston. I've never visited, and I'm not sure why that's a safe place for us to go.