Page 41 of Scorpion

He’s so damn hard to keep alive.

“As your security, I would advise against driving in this vehicle. Separately. Anyone could corner you,” I say.

“Surely they have to catch me first.”

“The windows—”

“Are bulletproof.”

“You could be followed.”

“I will be followed.” He points to the four SUVs behind us.

There’s no winning this argument. He’s still the boss and he makes the final decision. Even if it means it might end up with him killed. Maybe I’ll drag Sergei into this discussion so he can be the voice of reason. I nod and move to turn around, but pause.

“Zalak.”

I look over my shoulder and raise a brow at him just as he holds the passenger door open. “How are you meant to protect me if you’re in another car?”

My stomach convulses at the prospect of getting into a car, but the fear dissipates when I eye the Bugatti.

It’s… it isn’t raising my hackles. The car is so small and low to the ground that my brain isn’t reconciling the vehicle in front of me to the one I almost died in. The neon color removes the connection to the event, and any possibility that it might be one in the same as an armored car. This seems more like a scene from a movie than a memory.

I clear my throat and thank him as I take my seat in the car.

Nothing. No cold sweats. No shaking.

He closes the door behind me. My heart hammers as I take in the interior. Still nothing. It’s like I’m willing the panic to take hold, but it never does. The air doesn’t grow thinner. My skin doesn’t burn. There’s no ringing in my ears.

I’m… I’m okay.

Jesus fucking Christ, I’m actually alright.

I could almost laugh at the thought. I’m inside a car, and I’m fine. Nothing is happening to me. There’s no bomb about to hit this tin can. I could almost kiss Mathijs for this.

The beast purrs awake and my lips stretch into the slightest smile. I’m doing it. I’m actually fucking doing it. Mathijs takes his seat, and I repress the urge to tell him I haven’t stepped foot into something other than a bus, jet, or a limo since I touched down back in the US. Now here I am, sitting in the front seat of a car, dressed up, sober, and with an actual job.

Wherever Gaya and TJ are, they better be having a cold one for me.

Mathijs winks at me like he’s silently celebrating with me. There’s barely a moment of hesitation before he speeds down to the end of the drive, forgetting all about his security detail. My hand automatically drops to the door handle—not for show. He drives like a lunatic. It’s a stretch to say he “looked” both ways before tearing onto the road.

“You’re a liability,” I mutter.

He turns toward me, lips splitting into a boyish grin as he drives us single-handedly. “I have to keep my men on their toes.”

“Eyes on the road,” I snap. “I’m having a hard time protecting you from yourself.” He chuckles and does as he’s told, but before he can respond, I ask the burning questions. “Where are we going?”

“To a dinner.”

“Where?”

“A restaurant.”

I glare at his profile. “Where, Mathijs?”

He sighs and smiles wider as if the thought of our destination makes him excited. My gut sours, putting a lid on whatever joy I felt moments before.

“A Michelin-star restaurant with a six-month waitlist. I have a private room booked.”

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