Page 4 of Savage Promises

I slide inside the Mustang and Shane shuts my door. Strutting with power, he rounds the car and climbs in beside me. The scent of leather and his cologne wrap around me.

Clean. Sharp. Too much. It’s too real.

How did I get here?

Shane revs the engine and peels away from the curb. We drive in silence down the empty streets of Astoria. I’ve never been out this late. Knowing what my father does, what Shane’s father does, the emptiness I see isn’t empty at all.

Wicked deeds hide in the shadows of these streets.

“Mr. All Talk, now you’re quiet,” I say, my pulse still off the charts.

White-knuckling the leather-wrapped steering wheel, Shane grinds out in his faint Waterford, Ireland accent, “Trying not to say something I’ll regret.”

I swallow thickly. “Like what?”

He shakes his head, expelling a harsh breath.

After a few minutes, Shane pulls his hotrod into the secluded parking lot of a warehouse overlooking Astoria Harbor. City lights from behind us shimmer on the water, casting a soft glow that bounces back into the Mustang’s interior. He cuts the engine, and the silence is a gong, thundering in my ears.

Heavy and tense, the air between us slowly thickens with something deeper than the November night sky.

“Well, you got me here.” I turn to him, anxiety spiraling through me.

“I can’t believe you were going to let DerrickRossikiss you.” The biting anger in his voice reeks of envy and malice.

“Sure, why not?” God, his jealousy fires up my excitement. Down there. “I’m old enough now. That’s the whole point of waiting and marking off the calendar until you’re eighteen.”

Shane’s gaze peers into me, full of conflict. “Just because you’re eighteen, Lennox, doesn’t mean you’re an adult. Going into a closet with a football jock might be agame. But giving a guy like that permission to touch you is not. You have no idea what kind of fire you’re playing with. Plus, he’s Italian with ties to theParisis. The Italian mafia is causing all kinds of trouble lately.Westay clear of them.”

I know bywehe means us, the Irish.

I wave off his concern. “We don’t care about that in school. Irish. Italian. There’s even a kid named Petrov who just got here from Russia.”

“You need to stay away from the Russians even more than the Italians.”

I stare back, my throat tight. “You sound prejudiced, Shane. And you shouldn’t keep treating me like a child.”

He strokes a tendril of my hair between his fingers. My asymmetrical blouse hangs off one shoulder, inviting his other hand to caress the exposed bare skin. His touch sends tingles through my body.

“You are most certainly not a child anymore, Lennox.”

“I’m glad we agree.” Silence stretches out until I whisper, “In a couple of months, I’ll be away at college.”

“College?” he murmurs. “Already?”

“Yeah, I have the credits to graduate. I want a degree and work. Have a career. Dress in nice clothes and high heels. Do my hair and makeup every day.Live, Shane.”

“Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

“Except for one thing.” I lick my lips.

“And that is?” he drawls.

My heart pounds as he taunts me to say the words. The desire I’ve only imagined and never dared to say out loud.

With liquid courage, however, I whisper, “I want to head off into this new chapter of my life with the memory of a great birthday kiss.”

I’m shaking like a leaf, my throat bone dry waiting for his response.

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