Page 10 of Ignite

A chuckle bursts out of me. If only she knew.

I press a finger to my lips. “Your darkest secrets are safe with me.”

She nods. The light turns green—and fuck me, I’m pinned to the seat as she punches it. The engine roars, the speedometer climbs, and my adrenaline spikes right alongside it.

Jesus.

“She drives like she owns the goddamn world. I would love to race you in this,” I murmur.

“I’d leave you in the dust on the track,” she smirks.

I laugh, my stomach flipping. This woman is trouble.

“Oh, Hallie. You don’t know who you’re playing with here.”

“What, you think you’d win in a smashed Bugatti?” she counters.

Ouch. Low blow.

“I’ll fix it up in no time, trouble.”

She chews her lip as we approach the hospital, eyes scanning for a spot. She drives through quite a few.

“I fucking hate reversing in a space, okay?”

I raise both hands. “No judgment. We won’t race backwards.”

“Good. Also, we’d have to make it fair. Two Shelbys or two Bugattis. To see who’s actually got skills.”

Fair enough. I could find a Shelby. If I weren’t about to get stitched up in a place I’d rather set on fire than walk into.

Hospitals fuck me up. The last memory I have of Mom was in a place just like this. Cold walls. Machines beeping. Her pale face. Gone.

It’s the memory that flashes when I lose it in the cage. When James didn’t get back up. When my hands wouldn’t stop.

Hallie cuts the engine, dragging me back.

“That was way more fun than an ambulance trip,” I tell her, leaving off the beautiful owner bit.

“Glad it distracted you,” she says, brushing her fingers across the wheel. That glimmer in her eye? Fuck me—it does things.

“You think you can walk, or should I grab you a wheelchair?”

I scoff. “I’ll limp. It’s just glass.”

She pouts and then nods. “To be honest, if it hit something important, you’d have bled to death by now.”

Jesus Christ.

My throat tightens. Definitely not funny.

But she laughs, like it’s just nurse banter. Finn does that too, makes jokes about me dying while holding a scalpel.

Her hand rests on my good thigh. My pulse goes off the rails.

“I was joking. A few stitches and you’ll be good to fight.”

I raise a brow. “How much do you know about me exactly?”

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