Page 18 of Ride with the Devil

So, that thought in mind, I say ‘fuck it’ and use my palm to shove the door open all the way.

Whoops. I used a little more force than I should’ve because the answering slam of my hand against the wood fills the room I’m peering into.

I’m not alone. To my right, I see a man. His arms are stretched out on the top of the two-seater couch, legs spread as his head is tilted back, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Unless I was imagining it, he was snoring, too, though that stops as soon as his eyes snap open.

I know who he is. I saw that surprisingly handsome face earlier tonight. Those shocking green eyes. The sandy brown hair seemingly sticking up in random places.

It’s the driver who drugged me.

He jumps to his feet, pointing at my chest. “What are you…howdid you… what?”

Releasing my hold on the lip gloss container in my pocket, I jerk my thumb behind me. “You forgot to lock me down there.”

His mouth falls open all the rest of the way, the heights of his chiseled cheeks turning a slight shade of pink.

Without another word, he slowly—almost sheepishly—sidles over to the front door. Asnick-ing sound later, that door is locked, too.

I smile.

You know what? This is gonna befun.

SEVEN

LUCA

KYLIE

It takes him a moment to recover. To accept that I’m really there, and that while it’s true he neglected to lock the door to keep me downstairs, the reason I shouldn’t be upstairs at all is hanging loosely from my grip as I walk toward the nearest window and peek outside.

One look and I confirm my suspicion that I’m not in Springfield any longer. It’s a big city with multiple sectors, but despite the urban, suburban, and crowded downtown areas, there’s one thing that it’s missing: mountains and trees.

What do I see outside the window?

Mountains.

And trees.

There’s more snow up here, too. I can see it weighing down the empty branches, piling up on the dirt path. It must be from an older storm since the fresh tire tracks drove right through the unplowed side yard, allowing me to see the frozen dirt beneath it.

From when he drove me up here? Probably.

But why?

I thought I’d get a bullet in the back of my head. Instead, I’m in a small house, cabin-type thing, up on a snowy mountain at Christmas, with a good looking guy who is holding a decidedly un-mafia-like weapon as though he’s never carried before.

Revolver, obviously. Another glance clocks it as a .22 caliber. Guns aren’t my weapon of choice—not when they’re so fuckingeasy—but I know my snub-nosed revolves. Mainly because they’re some of the most common types of concealed carries, and I need to know if my targets are hiding weapons on them, but either way, I’m pretty sure he has a Ruger LCR.

He’s pointing it down. I swallow my snort. Amateur. In my line of work, you learn quickly that, if you’re holding a gun, you better be prepared to use it. Pointing it at the floor? What is he going to do? Shoot straight into the basement while I’m standing by the window?

Please. I could disarm him and have him kissing his own gun in less than ten seconds if he’s going to keep it at his side like that.

Even better, he has no idea.

His forehead is furrowed into thick lines. The dark circles under his eyes seem to shadow them, darkening the shade of his green irises. He probably only just dozed off when my sudden appearance woke his ass up. Me, on the other hand? I’ve been out for a good six or seven hours at least considering it’s not dark outside any longer. It’s morning, and it’s time to face what today will bring.

It takes him a few moments to recover, but it takes me even longer to realize that he’s staring at me like that because he doesn’t know what to make of me. And while I often have that effect on people, in this situation, I’m not acting anything like he probably expected me to.

The driver looks like he expects me to start sobbing in terror. At the very least, I should be freaking out. Right? Maybedemanding to know where I am, what’s going on, and what he’s going to do with me… but I didn’t.

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