Page 76 of Lose Me In The Shadows

“Oh, we’ll make it fit,” he promised.

He heard someone gasp. People on the West Coast might pretend to be worldly, but in reality they were prude fucks. He winked at them.

Luke and Micah laughed. Micah pulled open the door at the end of the aisle, ignoring the sign that said, “Do not enter unless train is stopped,” and Conor followed after, guiding Kara through and into the vestibule.

He picked Kara up, twisting around and planting her against the wall.

“I can’t fucking wait any longer.”

“We’re in public,” she whined, putting on a show. Or meaning it. He couldn’t even tell at this point.

“Tough shit,” he said, capturing her mouth in a kiss.

“Hey, what about us?” Micah complained.

“There’s enough of her to go around,” Conor said, noting when Kara’s eyes flashed.

Was she turned on, or did this remind her too much of the way they’d been with her at the cabin?

He pushed the thought away. “On your knees,” he told her, lowering her to the ground.

Luke and Micah crowded in, so her back was to the wall and she was protected from all sides.

Perfect.

“Should I…” she fumbled, not sure what to do.

“Get our pants unzipped and that hot mouth sucking,” he ordered. It had to look real.

He counted down from five in his head, listening for footsteps, doing his best not to get lost in her touch as she began to unzip his jeans.

“Conor,” she murmured, tapping his thigh.

A warning.

He turned, grabbing the gun from blue baseball cap just as the man tried to pistol whip him with it. It didn’t take much to twist the man’s arm and force him to the ground before crushing his windpipe.

It was almost funny, how little murdering people upset him anymore.

He glanced over. Micah had red sweater in a headlock, and Luke was delivering punch after unnecessary punch to the man’s middle, asking, “What do you want from us, fucker? Where is Chris Johnathan?”

“You’ll see him soon.” Red sweater spat blood. “Or at least your slut will.”

In response, Micah snapped his neck.

There was the whoosh of the train car doors opening.

Conor looked over, and his blood froze in his veins.

Four other goons surrounded them, all in civilian clothes—but their training was in their dead eyes. These were hitmen, like him. Good ones.

And they had Kara trapped between them, still on her knees, a gun pointed at her head.

“Idiots,” blue baseball cap said from the ground. Conor stepped on his foot, distantly pleased when the man let out a shriek of pain. But he was right. The first two men had been decoys. These men were the ones to watch out for.

“Should’ve expected as much from military guys,” blue baseball cap continued. “All brawn, no brains. And look, we’ve got the girl.”

The girl in question made Conor proud when she said with barely a tremble in her voice, “Excuse me, can you not point a gun at my face, please?”

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