Page 50 of Sinful Embers

Ten minutes later, we’re dressed in dark clothes, hoodies drawn up, slipping out of the compound like shadows.

Sabrina moves like she’s done this a hundred times. She probably has.

We stay off the road, sticking to the trees until we reach a small village about three miles out. Cars line the quiet street. Not a creature is moving. It’s unnerving.

Just like the tiny woman scanning the cars like a seasoned pro until she zeroes in on an older model VW Beetle.

“This one.”

I stare at her. “That piece of shit?”

“It’s a classic.” She rolls her eyes. “It has no GPS and is easy to boost.”

I exhale sharply. “You’re really going to steal a car?”

“You have a better idea?” She raises a brow. “What, you thinking of ordering an Uber?”

I scowl. “No. I’m not dumb, you know.”

“No,” she agrees. “Just a spoiled Bratva boss used to having brute force at his disposal.”

She’s not wrong.

She slides into the driver’s seat, hot-wires the car in under a minute.

It purrs to life.

I shake my head as I climb into the passenger seat. “You’re frightening.”

She grins. “So you’ve said.”

One Hour Later – just outside of London Sabrina pulls into a gas station, parking near the convenience store.

“The tank is full,” I point out.

“We don’t need gas,” she says. “We need a map.”

I pause. “Isn’t that why we have—” Then I remember. Our phones were taken. “Fuck.”

“Yep.” She slides out of the car. “Old-school map it is.”

Inside, she grabs a handful of supplies—water, snacks, a flashlight, and a huge map book.

I pay in cash.

Back on the road, she navigates while I drive.

Correction—while I attempt to drive this toy car on wheels.

The steering wheel feels like it’s going to wobble off in my hands, my knees are practically at my chest, and every time I shift gears, I’m afraid the gear shift is going to come off.

Sabrina, of course, finds this hilarious.

“I swear to God,” I growl, trying to adjust my position. “If I hear one more fucking giggle—”

“You’re just mad because you look ridiculous in this thing.” She tosses a bag of Skittles into my lap. “Here. Have some candy. It’ll help.”

I glare at her. “Do I look like I eat Skittles?”

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