Page 92 of Come Back to Me

“I dunno. Ten thousand?”

Carson barks out a laugh. “This model?”

Colby chuckles. “So there is some shit you don’t know.”

“More like a hundred and thirty K,” Calder informs me.

“ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY THOUSAND DOLLARS?” I squeak. “Who the fuck spends that on a pickup?”

“Billionaires,” the triplets say of one voice.

“Fuck. My. Life. Thisisgrand theft auto. If I ever thought I was capable of that, I figured I’d steal a Ferrari, you know?” I bite my lip. “Who goes to prison for stealing a pickup when you could hotwire a sports car? Talk about the lamest?—”

“She’s crazy,” Carson whispers.

“You thought about stealing a Ferrari?” Colby inquires, his brows surging.

“Sure. Who hasn’t?”

They clear their throats.

In unison.

Goddammit, that’s annoying.

“Not really. I don’t think about prison in a ‘it’s at the top of my bucket list of places to visit’ kind of way.” Calder tips his hat low. “Despite my brushes with the law lately.”

“Brushes.” Carson snorts. “You were a tagger, Calder. Not Scarface.”

I purse my lips. “Okay, less reminiscing, more directing. Where’s the bastard? I’d prefer minimum to maximum security because I accidentally left a man to die in the wilderness.”

Colby’s brows lift. “Bastard?”

“Yes. He’s lucky I only tossed him in the lake.”

“I’ve seen him. Bro’s massive. How the fuck did you do that anyways? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Carson demands, sitting straighter on his saddle.

“Only my fucking soul.”

They all appear taken aback, but Calder concedes, “We’ll guide you if you want. Good blackmail material for when one of us busts our truck.”

“You mean you,” Carson grouses.

“I meanus,” Calder snipes.

“Won’t the truck’s engine frighten the horses?”

“Nah. They’re used to it. Aren’t you, Buttercup?” he croons at his mount.

I smile as they tap their horses’ sides with their heels, but I can’t hear their chatter over the engine, which leaves me worrying about stealing a marshal’s truck.

“A hundred and thirty k?” I screech as I side-eye the fancy dash. More agitated than ever, I shout, “Can we go a bit faster, boys?”

“Sure thing, Tee,” Calder shouts back as they nudge their rides into a canter.

Though I accelerate, I hold off from revving the engine too much so that I don’t frighten the horses, and then, with jitters making my knees jump, I follow, wondering how the fuck I got so lost while traveling in a straight line.

Eventually, I see the lake and take a wide berth past the horses as I speed up toward the shore, hollering, “Thank you, hellions! I owe you one. You can go now.”

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