Page 66 of Ruthless Intent

“Want to go for a ride, baby?” I unlock the door and settle into the driver’s seat.

My fingers curl around the steering wheel, and I tip back my head, close my eyes, and inhale. The scent of leather fills my nose.

The smile which pulls my lips up feels odd on my face, and when I turn the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life, it elevates my soul.

“Fuck, yeah.” I press my foot to the pedal, and ease the Mustang out of its parking bay and through the doors of the garage.

As soon as I’m on the road, I hit the gas, and the car takes off, engine purring and I’m grinning like a mad man by the time I pull up outside Ashley’s house.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

ASHLEY

The knock on the door is sharp, short, and efficient. I don’t even need to open it to know Zain will be standing at the other side. I just know. The knock has his attitude. One single rap on the wood, expecting to be heard and acknowledged immediately.

So, I do the only thing that makes sense to me.

I ignore it.

I make him wait.

I don’t move from where I’m sitting at the kitchen table. And I feel a small sense of victory when he knocks a second time.

When I finally open the door, it’s to find him leaning against the wall, arms folded. His eyes are hidden by dark sunglasses, so I can’t see his expression clearly, but impatience rolls off him in waves.

He straightens when I step out, arms dropping to his sides, and I’m struck by just how tall he is. I don’t know why I haven’t noticed it before.

Because you’ve been too busy trying to figure out a way out of this mess.

He turns away and walks down the steps without a word, clearly expecting me to follow him.

I’m half-tempted to stay where I am and wait for him to notice. This attitude of expecting me to do whatever he wants without argument makes me want to do the opposite, and I have to keep reminding myself that currently he holds all the cards. Every time I push back is risking my mom’s freedom.

When he stops beside a red car, and not the Mercedes he’s been using, my heart skips a beat.

I recognize it.

It was the car sitting on the drive the night I walked in and found Jason dead. I remember it because when I was led outside, the police had the doors and trunk open and were searching inside.

He doesn’t notice the way I’m staring, and throws open the passenger door.

“Get in.”

I hesitate, then move forward and climb into the passenger seat.

“Where’s your other car?”

“It was a loan. This is my car.” He turns the key, and the roar of the engine stalls my response.

“Where are we going?” I sit forward when he drives past the turning that will take us down to the beach.

“Change of plan.”

“What kind of change?”

“Just a small one. Nothing you need to worry about.” He keeps driving through town, until he reaches a road leading to a set of electric gates.

My hand goes to the door handle, while tension holds my spine ramrod straight. My gaze darts around, checking for the road name, and any recognizable landmarks. I haven’t ever been to this part of town before, and I need to know where I am in case I need to run.

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