Page 29 of Take

Then he did. “You trying to get us killed?” I was standing slightly behind him so he had to turn to look at me. And fuck, it was a look. One that raised the hairs on the back of my neck and had me grinding my teeth back and forth. “Never . . .” he snagged my wrist, fingers bruising, “speak telepathically around anyone when you don’t know what the fuck they are.”

“You did.” Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut and just said, ‘yes, sir’ like I had done with Drake. But Jasper had split me open and I could no longer stay quiet. My fight to get back the control I used to have and the ease of living in the dark . . . it was slipping away.

Jasper had ripped down my black shield and splattered me with a spectral of colors. And despite hating him for it, with each breath I was feeling more alive than I ever had.

“From fifty feet away and I know my limits. Do you understand me?” He let me go and shook his head back and forth. “And if you say fuckin’ ‘yes, sir,’ I’ll do what I should’ve days ago and spank your ass right here on the side of the road.”

The pull upward at the corner of my mouth surprised me. He really was an asshole, but for the first time since he’d barged into my bedroom, Jasper looked and sounded worried. Yeah, it was subtle like the slight shift in the direction of the breeze, but I’d felt it when he held my wrist. The peppering of his nerves awakening under his heated skin.

Had he been worried about those men? About himself? About me? Or was it simply my imagination?

“Get on the bike.”

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?” I knew we were meeting Xamien, but I wasn’t sure where or when.

“To France.”

“France?”

“There’s a place that’s safe for you to lay low. Xamien will meet us near there. Now, will you get on the bike?” he ground out.

Shit, he was still pissed. I threw my leg over the bike and settled in behind him. There was a time for pushing him and this wasn’t it. It wasn’t fear of him that kept me silent. It was the simple deduction that it wouldn’t have done any good. He’d been right. I shouldn’t have spoken telepathically so close to those men because if they had been rogue Scars, they’d have known instantly we were too.

“I’m sorry.”

His back stiffened and then he punched the handle bar and turned to look at me. “You didn’t know any better. It’s fine.” I knew it wasn’t, but he was trying to make me feel better and that was a first. He started the bike back up and I put my arms around him.

We rode for another hour before he pulled off onto a dirt road. We bounced along the unkempt winding path barricaded by trees on either side of us. A few minutes later, we broke into a clearing and I peered over Jasper’s shoulder.

Now, this I hadn’t expected. There was a small plane and a grass runway. A plane with wings wearing the age of time. Black spots littered across the base of the upper wing and what appeared like rust speckled the propeller on the front.

Jasper pulled up beside it and we dismounted his bike.

“A plane?”

The right corner of Jasper’s mouth curled upward and his eyes brightened. “Meet Fiona.”

“Fiona?”

The anger had washed away and it was the playful Jasper again. “My plane.”

“Yeah, I got that. But Fiona needs a facelift. Maybe even a new Fiona.”

Jasper chuckled. “She’s never let me down. I trust her.”

I don’t.“Are there parachutes in the plane? Helmets? Fire protection suits?”

He burst out laughing and the sound sank into me, sparking heat from the tips of my fingers straight down to my toes. It was obvious from the lightness in him that Fiona was his pride and joy. I was surprised Jasper had a pride and joy as I had the impression there was nothing he cared about.

I did wonder who she was named after. I’d never really been curious about anyone. Didn’t care to. But I wanted to know how Jasper came to be the way he was. Why he lived without ties to anyone. Why he killed for money. He couldn’t have always been like this.

I watched him stride over to the plane, his arm reaching up then his fingers running along the edge of the wing. It was a caress, soft and gentle like he was stroking the curve of a woman’s side. I stared, my pulse spiking, imagining it was me he was caressing.

His hand smacked the metal and I jolted.

A machine. Nothing that could love him back. Something he could easily destroy if he needed to. No attachment.

And it could be argued that I had no attachments either, but I had my reasons. The question was . . . what were Jasper’s?

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