Page 4 of Draven

She nibbles on her bottom lip, which shows her discomfort in being here, but her eyes, they’re still defiant. “That’s true, you don’t. But this isn’t about me. Please just sit down and listen. Five minutes. You can spare me that amount of time, can’t you?”

“No.”

I stride to the door, my heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor, aided by my six-foot six frame. All I wanted was some goddamn peace to celebrate my latest triumph, and an unwanted ghost from my past had to turn up and ruin my pitiful party-for-one. How the hell had she found me, anyway? I originally planned to head back to New York tonight, but I’d promised to visit Mom before I got embroiled in the next case. It makes more sense to spend the night in Newark, then drive down to Camden in the morning to see my family, rather than have to come all the way from Manhattan on another day.

I throw a leg over my bike, jam on my helmet, and start the engine, but Louise follows me out of the bar and heads over to me.

“Draven, please. God damn you.”

I rev the engine, holding a hand to my ear. “Sorry, I can’t hear you.”

Kicking the bike into gear, I roar off, my back tire sending stones and gravel into the air. I catch a glimpse of her in my right-hand mirror throwing her hands out to the side, then settling them on her hips. Her eyes fix on me until I turn the corner at the end of the street.

A sliver of contrition crawls into my chest. Maybe I should have given her five minutes. If she’s come looking for me, something must be off. Unless she’s expecting me to have mellowed with age.

I snort a laugh behind my helmet. If anything, I’m worse than I was back then. Ciaran keeps me somewhat in check, but I was born a rebel, I grew up a rebel, and I’ll die a rebel. It’s who I am, and I’m not in the market to change. My family takes me for me, and so does my best friend. As for the rest of society, I couldn’t give two shits what they thought.

The motel I’m staying at comes into view. I pull into the drive-thru of the fast food joint next door and pick up a triple-stacked burger, extra-large fries, and a big-gulp soda. Managing to balance the food on the handlebars of my bike, I then park in front of my room, secure my bike, and head inside. I’ve stayed in worse places, but I can’t say I’ll be sorry to leave here. I’m craving my own bed, my own sheets, and my own shit around me.

Once I’ve flopped onto the bed, I switch on the TV and wolf down my solitary dinner for one. I’m so sick of fast food. I can’t wait to tuck into a few homecooked meals. Not made by me, though. Fuck, no. I can barely boil an egg. But Ciaran’s better half, Millie, always makes sure my freezer is stocked with casseroles and lasagnas, and I’m craving a gigantic bowl of her beef in ale, with a stack of crusty bread on the side.

After finishing my burger, I jump in the shower. Bracing my hands on the tiled wall, I let the hot water cascade over my back, washing away the scum that dealing with filth like Moretti always leaves on my skin. My long hair drips water all over the floor when I climb out and wrap a towel around my waist, so I roughly towel dry it, and run my fingers through to tease out the knots. I’ve just pulled on a pair of sweatpants when some brave soul knocks on the door. Maybe it’s Rick returning my handcuffs. If it is, he’d better have brought an apology, too.

I pad across the room and press my eye to the spyhole.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Flinging open the door, I glare at my unwelcome visitor. “You got a fucking tracking device on me?”

Louise stands there, her mouth slightly parted, and eyes trailing down my body, slow in their descent, then even slower on the way back up to my face. Her tongue darts out to cool her lips, and a telltale flush of desire colors her cheeks.

I almost laugh. Priceless. Louise Rhodes still has the hots for me and is no better at hiding her feelings now than when we worked together. Either that or she hasn’t been nailed in so long that a quick screw against the wall with me is a tempting prospect.

“Eyes up here, sweetcheeks,” I drawl.

Her cheeks turn from a dusting of pink to bright crimson. “Can I come in?” she asks, keeping her attention firmly on my face.

“If I didn’t want to talk to you at the bar, what makes you think I’m interested in a conversation in my hotel room?” I look her up and down, running my tongue along the underside of my top teeth. “Unless talking isn’t what you’re interested in.” I give a cursory glance at my watch. “I guess I got ten minutes. Quick fuck do you?”

“Screw you, Draven,” she rasps, the sound low in her throat. “Talking is the only thing I’m interested in.”

I lean in nice and close, aiming for intimidating.

To give the girl credit, she stands her ground. I’ve come across many men who wither under one of my formidable stares, but she holds my gaze without even blinking.

“Better have a word with your body, then, sweetcheeks, ’cause it’s sending out a completely different message.”

She inhales a lungful of air, blowing it out slowly through pursed lips. “Don’t flatter yourself. If I wasn’t desperate, I wouldn’t be here.”

I snort a laugh. “You’re really fucking selling it to me.”

She runs her fingers through her bangs before fisting her hair at the roots. “You always were a frustrating ass.”

“Good to know neither of us have changed in the past eight years.” I go to shut the door.

She sticks her foot in the gap. “Please, five minutes. That’s all I ask.”

“Move it or lose it.”

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