Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
So, when I saw the woman jump from a second story window to escape the burning building, my curiosity demanded I find out why she’d been there in the first place. Which meant, she was going back to Kiss of Death with me whether she wanted to or not. But I’d prefer not to scare the little thing to death until I knew her role in all this so the best approach would be to get her to voluntarily come with me.
“If you try to hurt me, I’ll kill you.” Despite her bravado, the girl trembled visibly and her voice wobbled. The gun in her grip shook violently. She held it like someone who’d only ever seen a gun in action in the movies. I doubt she’d ever even held a gun let alone used one. I had to hand it to her. She met my gaze head-on and didn’t look away.
The cops rolled heavy and fast in this part of the city, especially given the high-end nature of the neighborhood. Though the club looked plain and unimpressive on the outside, they didn’t advertise because the place was as exclusive as it got. Only the wealthiest people entered Enclave Éclipse so, even though the blocks surrounding the club weren’t exactly in the middle of 12th South in Nashville, it was close enough that the cops responded quickly. Not only would being seen by the cops in the area make me the most convenient scapegoat in the history of scapegoats, but I especially didn’t want to be here with a half-conscious, blood-smeared woman. That story would definitely not paint me as the hero of the evening.
She gritted her teeth, trying to find a way to hold her ground. Blood trickled from her hairline, cutting a rust-brown path through the soot on her cheeks. She kept the gun leveled at my chest, smart considering I outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds and stood between her and any chance at a clean path out.
“Ten seconds,” I said, and pointed at my bike with my chin. “You want to take your chances with the blue lights, or do you want to live to tell me your story?”
She hesitated and I could practically hear the argument going on inside her head. The risk of staying versus risk of climbing onto the back of a stranger’s motorcycle with a wound in her hand and no backup. For a second, I thought she’d try to bolt. Instead, she took in a couple deep breaths. Then she moved past me and didn’t look back to see if I followed her.
I’d parked my bike across the one-way street behind the Éclipse. She waited until I’d mounted before she climbed onto the back of my bike and wrapped her left arm around my waist without asking. She held her other, injured hand to her side in a weird, protective way. Probably hurt something when she jumped out the window. I felt the tension in her arm even through the heavy denim.
“Wasn’t expecting company, so I don’t have helmets. My suggestion would be to hang on tight.”
“I’m not giving up my gun.”
“Tuck it in the back of your jeans waistband or toss it.”
She hesitated, then tucked it behind her and pulled her shirt over it as best she could. “Gonna stick out like a beat dick,” she muttered.
I shrugged. “Your call.”
She hesitated, then settled behind me, wrapping her other arm around me. Her bleeding palm stained my shirt, and I felt the dampness under her hand.
Red and blue strobed in the smoke, painting the mouth of the alley in a macabre light show as police and fire arrived. I killed the headlight as I brought the engine to life. The girl’s body tensed against me as the engine caught and she clamped her arms even tighter, like the only thing she trusted was her own grip.
We launched out of the alley, the rear wheel slipping a little on the wet asphalt and the pipes barking like we were shot out of a gun. I risked a glance over my shoulder in time to see two guys on bikes hit the mouth of the alley, one with his hand already on his weapon. The girl didn’t flinch, didn’t even duck. She looked straight at them as we blew past, chin up, hair whipping behind her in the stink of burnt insulation and rubber.
“Hang on,” I said, but it was unnecessary. She’d plastered herself against my back and hung on for dear life.
We shot up the block and took a hard right, fishtailing on the wet pavement. The men we’d passed would have to double back to catch us, but they’d for sure call in reinforcements so I didn’t slow. We ducked into the service drive behind a print shop and then hopped the curb into the parking lot of a nearby building. I heard the girl swear once, sharp and muffled.