I tense with a pained whimper, and he stills.

“Did I hurt you?”

That’s a loaded question. “Yes. I kissed you, like we agreed. Now, can I please lie on my side so I can attempt to make a full recovery.”

Mischief gleams in his eyes. “On two conditions—Three.”

If looks could kill, the one I’m giving him would be considered second degree homicide. “I swear to God, Mickey—"

“Keep your claws to yourself until you hear what I have to say.”

Sighing, I cross my arms and lean away from him. “What?”

“You can stay on your side of the car if you face me while you sleep and hold my hand.” Mickey says it with his deep voice and that unhinged sparkle in his eye, but all I can think about is how I used to make the same request to my mother. “Do we have a deal?”

I nod hesitantly.

“Shake on it.” Mickey holds his hand out.

Narrowing my eyes, I take his hand before he can pull it away and turn this into a germaphobe’s nightmare. I still have trust issues after he quickly spit on it and slapped our hands together when I was twelve. It was the most disgusting thing I’d ever felt.

“Good.” He releases me, motioning to my seat as if I’ve been dismissed. Such a little shit.

The journey back to my side of the car is less than graceful. A whole bunch of awkward positioning of limbs and less than ceremonious grunts. Oh, and a brutal slap to my ass.

Once there’s no pressure on my backside, and I’m protected by the blanket’s warmth once again, I try to pay attention to something other than Mickey. But there’s nothing else to look at but him because condensation coats the windows, so there’s no way to know if anyone is standing outside.

There isn’t a doubt in my mind that if anything were to happen, Mickey would risk his life to save me. That kind of knowledge makes falling asleep easier, but the longing in his stare chases the prospect of rest away.

“Hand, Bella,” he scolds.

“But it’s cold.”

I shook on it, and it’s a cardinal sin to break what has been shaken on.

He mutters something under his breath and drags another blanket to the front seat so it covers both of us. Without waiting for me to give him my hand, he shoves his arm beneath my blanket and fumbles around until our fingers are intertwined, and then he grunts his approval.

We’ve been through Hell together, and like he promised, he came back for me. I’m giving him a hard time, but I still want to be wherever he is. As I stare at his profile and let the sound of breathing calm my racing nerves, I realize something; he feels like cocoa in the winter and the first sign of color in the fall. And when I’m around him, I feel like sangria in the summer and daffodils in the spring.

We’re polar opposites, but work so perfectly together.

Or maybe so tragically.

“Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight, Mickey.”

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 23

ROMAN

“I’m just saying, if we were ever in a Mad Max and Aliens situation, we’d be sorted. I’d set us up a nice ride—maybe steal a Tesla, go electric—and we’ll be crusin’ around the country, just you and me. I mean, it would suck because there probably wouldn’t be any radio, and we’d have to hunt our own food—lucky we have the house—but I think we have a serious chance of survival.”

Bella mumbles a non-committal “Yup,” while reading the back of a chip packet, which she follows up with a cute little frown. “The Tesla would be useless without electricity.”

So she was listening to me. Good. “We’ll head to South America, so I can be a cooler Indiana Jones, and you can be Jane.”

Bella still doesn’t look up from the packet she’s been reading for the past ten minutes.

The great news is that her hair is back in her signature pigtails—but she didn’t want my help. So that pissed me the fuck off this morning.

Fuck baby steps. Why isn’t she madly obsessed with me yet?

“Jane’s from Tarzan, and please don’t compare yourself to Indiana Jones. You’ll never win.”

Test number two: Passed.

Wait, actually, no. Now I’m a little bit jealous. What the hell does she mean that I can’t win against Harrison Ford?

That’s it. She’s banned from watching movies with him in it.

All morning, Bella has been either ignoring me or giving me her very obviously distracted attention. I’m inclined to pull over and make her give me her full attention, but she’s lucky that we’ve got an appointment to make, and we’re already late.

It's time to change tactics and say something that will really get her going. Pull out the big guns, as they say. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. While in prison, I read this book that said that when snakes lay eggs, you should always spin and tip the eggs a couple of times to help them grow strong.”

I bite back my grin and wait for her to explode.

She drops the bag and looks up at me with crazed eyes. “You’ll kill it if you do that!”

Bingo.

Yes, Princess, I very painfully remember the YouTube phase you went through. I had to sit and watch hours of egg-hatching and snake breeding videos. Weirdo. I’m practically traumatized—but I still didn’t hesitate to get the Mojave ball python tattooed on my wrist.

Christ. The things I’d do for this girl.

And to this girl.

Note to self: Once we pull over, Google how long she needs to recover so we can go another round or two.

“The book also said that if you see mold growing, run it under hot water and use a toothbrush to clean it.” I’m trying so hard to hide my grin, but damn it, I’m failing. She’s just too easy to rile up.

Over hypothetical snake eggs, of all things.

“Mickey!” she gasps, like I killed a dog or something. I’m not sure why she’s acting like either of us will be breeding or raising a clutch of snake eggs anytime in the foreseeable future, but I guess she’s preparing for the unlikely event it does happen. “No! You can’t do that. You’ll damage the shell and risk hurting the snake. You could kill it,” she says with haunted eyes. “You have to sprinkle antifungal powder to try to save the egg.”

So much passion in such a little body.

I pinch her cheek, and she slaps my hand away—as expected. So I send her a wink. “I’m just egging you on. No baby snakes are being harmed. Promise.”

“Snakelet. Not ‘baby snake.’” She scoffs, doing a cute nose scrunch. “It’s like saying baby dog instead of puppy.”

Out of everyone, I find Bella the easiest to read. Glaring and nose scrunching usually means she’s angry. Red cheeks and fluttering lashes mean she’s feeling flustered. Who knows what the fuck the rest means. She usually gives me a piece of her mind and fills in the blanks for me.

My phone buzzes for what has to be the tenth time in the past half hour. I check the GPS and slow down to a stop in front of a block of decrepit apartments.

Damien sticks out like a sore thumb in this shitty neighborhood, leaning against his bike like an A-class predator. I’d say we’re pretty equal on the hunter scale, but at this moment, I’m envious of the prick; I want to feel the wind around me as I ride my goddamn bike.

But, I gave it up for Bella.

I’m driving a 2006 Toyota pickup instead of the other love of my life, my BMW GS.

“Why are we here?” the main love of my life asks.

“To get IDs.”

She stares at me, mouth ajar. “This was the surprise? You seriously couldn’t have told me this last night.”

I shrug, grabbing my gun from the glove compartment. “It didn’t seem like a big deal.”

“Are you kidding me? We’re on the run because someone almost murdered me, then you started driving us to God knows where at night, and you didn’t think telling me where we were going was important?”I pause with my hand on the door, glaring at her because the reminder of the fucker holding a gun to her head sets me off. I should have kept stabbing him, or beaten his sorry ass up before he died.