Page 37 of Never Fall for an Angel

“Unless you want to wait here.”

Sirens a few blocks away is what gets her moving. She stumbles to her feet, clutching her backpack and hopping in the car. As soon as the door shuts, I’m peeling away, watching a few men try to chase after us in the rearview.

“Y-you—”

“Seat belt,” I order, not taking my eyes off the road. I’m going faster than I should be, especially with her in the car. She sucks in a wheezy breath, and I side-eye her. “And breathe.”

She’s shaking and a tear slips down her cheek, but she reaches for the seat belt, clasping it around her.

“Mila.”

She sucks in another breath, laying her head back against the seat and closing her eyes as if when she opens them, I’ll be gone.

“You-you hit that man,” she croaks, her hand resting over her racing heart.

Should have backed back over his ass, too.

Pulling up to a curb, I cut the lights, reversing right between two buildings in a narrow alleyway on a deserted street.

“Water.”

She stares at my open hand for a moment, still in shock, before I give up and just take the water bottle from her.

Exiting the car, I go to the front and pour it over the hood. When It’s finished, I toss the bottle in the back before going to the trunk and grabbing a new plate. When I return, Mila’s stilljittery, though she’s breathing, at least. She stares at me with wide gray eyes when I fall into the driver’s seat like she can’t decide if she wants to run from the man who tried to kidnap her or run from me.

“Changed the license plate.”

“And . . . the water?”

I shrug. “He got blood on my hood.”

“You hit him.”

I look at her, my gaze sweeping over the dirt on her leggings, her hair in a wild array of tangles, and the tears still drying on her cheeks.

“He deserved it.”

“Is . . . he dead?” she asks after a moment.

“Hopefully.”

“How did you know I needed help?”

Because I know everything about you.

There’s a moment of silence when an ambulance passes, undoubtedly going to help Mr. Handsy where the tension is so thick, you could cut it with a butter knife. Mila shivers and even though I know it’s probably not from the cold, I turn the heat up.

“I would say watching a man chase you down the sidewalk was probably the first clue.” And the fact that I’ve been following her all day. “Where to?”

She stares at me.

“Mila,” I say calmly. “Where to?”

“What are you doing here, Christian?”

“Saving your ass, of course.”

“Asshole,” she grumbles, looking away from me. I watch another tear slip down her cheek, and she hastily wipes it away.

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