Page 128 of The Grief We Hold

He grips a fistful of hair and kisses me hard before biting my lip gently. “Send me a list of the books you want, and I’ll buy them for you too.”

The need in his voice fills me with warmth. “Let’s go then.”

We put our helmets on, and Wraith revs the engine impatiently as I climb on. When we finally move, it’s faster than we have in the past.

“This speed okay?” Wraith asks as I snuggle up close to him.

“Yes!” The night air is perhaps too cool for my denim jacket, but there is something so freeing about it.

I let my hand drop a little lower and stroke the outline of Wraith’s cock.

“Unless you want me to pull over in the next field and fuck you on the bike, you better stop. Because I’ll make you explain to Ember why we’re back late for Fen.”

“Right up until the last part, that seemed like a good idea.” While I really like Ember, I’m not ready to share my sex life with her.

Wraith’s laughter is good for my soul.

“I hope we’re always this happy,” I say.

“It can’t be any other way, Blue. I refuse to let it.”

But his sentence is barely finished when I glance over my shoulder to see the truck coming behind us.

“Wraith,” I say as my mind races. “That truck is following us.”

“Why do you say that?” His head shifts, as if studying the wing mirror.

I squeeze my arms around him even more tightly. “It did a slow drive-by of Quinn and me in town. You passed them at the lights.”

“You certain?” Even as he asks, he shifts. He leans closer to the body of the bike, and we speed up.

The truck does too.

“Definitely. We both had a creepy feeling. We were literally about to run down the alley behind the bakery.”

“We’re about ten minutes from home,” he says.

The thought of safety is double-edged. “Please, don’t take us to Fen. I don’t want him to hear, see, or experience any more violence.”

Wraith takes a second to pat my hand. “Nothing is going to happen to any of us.”

The truck begins to gain on us and turns its lights on to a powerful blast of light. It’s intimidating but does serve to better illuminate the road in front of us.

“Fuck,” Wraith mutters. As if the action confirms this isn’t a coincidence. “Reach inside my cut and take my phone. My pin is zero, seven, zero, one. Find Butcher in my contacts and dial it. You’ll hear the call because we’re paired.”

I do as he says. Letting go of him to bring the phone in front of me scares the crap out of me. I’m in denim, but I know the road would make light work of the clothes I’m wearing, and my skin, if I fall off the damn bike.

My hands shake when I do as Wraith instructed.

The trucks gains on us, and I panic. I know the alphabet, I know how to search, but somehow it feels like it takes me a million years to find Butcher’s number and dial it. Once I’ve done as I was asked, I keep hold of the phone but wrap both arms around Wraith.

He’s weaving, dodging potholes, but also avoiding riding in a dead straight line.

“Wraith,” Butcher says, his voice booming through my helmet.

“Got a problem. A truck’s following me. Raven’s backpack. We’re on the rural road behind the Shacklestone Ranch, headed toward my place.”

“Northwest corner of that place has some outbuildings,” Butcher says. “Head there. Find cover. We’ll find you. Everyone is still here except you.”

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