Page 6 of Dravin

He crosses his arms, in no hurry now to get wherever it was we needed to go. We’re just standing here in the middle of the sidewalk next to a busy street, me with my hands still wrapped and taped, in a sports bra and tight black shorts, my hair carefully parted and braided next to my scalp. I’m probably a magnet for drawing attention. It kills me to admit it, but he’s right. We should probably go.Now.

Maddeningly, he just stands there. And then he grins at me in that mocking, condescending manner that I find so beyond infuriating. “I believe that I explained in full, painstaking detail who I am and what I do. Did you think that I would just be content to dump you here with a fake ID? Is that how you think someone should fulfill a promise to your dead brother? You haven’t taken a single step this past year that I wasn’t aware of.”

I shove down the fury at him mentioning Marcus again, especially using that word. I’m well aware that my brother was killed, his entire club wiped out, and most of the men’s families hunted down, including children.

It’s not something I’ll ever forget. The thought of those men slaughtering innocent children as their mothers tried to flee to safety with them, churns my stomach so badly that Ialmost retch right here. Those faceless men in black suits have haunted my dreams every single night for over a year.

“You let me train,” I say, just so I can swallow past the bitter acid coating the back of my tongue.

He jerks one shoulder up. “Why not? You kept to yourself otherwise. You’d altered your appearance, as I told you to do. You never went out, other than to go to work or to that gym, and the job I got you involved sitting at a desk making phone calls where no one could see you. You’ve been a very successful debt collector. Your boss will be so sorry to lose you.”

I guess that’s it for the little break he gave me. He snaps his hand up, snags my elbow, tucks me in against his side, and hurries along the sidewalk.

“How many times did my brother save your life?”

His head tilts down, the light glinting off a chin sharp enough to do damage to diamonds. “You already know that.”

“Refresh my memory.”

“Seven,” he grinds between his mouth gone slack with displeasure.

He can disguise a lot of things, alter his appearance dramatically, but he can’t do much for his voice. It’s guttural. The first time I heard it, I was stunned and not in the worst way. I still remember the volley of goosebumps that broke out over my skin.

It’s easy for me to tell myself that I’ve detested the sound of it ever since.

I keep pace with him, though I’d like to stumble, just to piss him off. “If the average cat has nine lives, can you go somewhere and lose the last two? I—wait. That was mean. Can you just lose one and spend somewhere nursing your last one enjoying your golden years in sweet, sweet seclusion?”

He snorts. “How old do you think I am?”

“Old enough to be my father.”

“I’m thirty-four.” The only hint of his displeasure is the fact that he picks up his pace, though at tight range, it means I have to basically run or take us both down.

Two scraped knees might totally be worth it.

“Leaning well into the silver fox look, aren’t you?”

There wasn’t a single gray hair in his head of lush mahogany—I mean drab brown—the day I met him and with the hat on and all that blond hair sticking out, it’s not like that’s true at all.

He marches us down the sidewalk at a pace near insanity. I’ve been training hard, so I don’t even begin to pant, but neither does he. It’s impossible for me not to notice the way he angles his body towards mine, using himself like a shield.

We hustle a few blocks and then a few more.

How far away did he park?

The answer is at least a mile. What he thought he was going to accomplish with that, I don’t know. He opens the back door of the tinted, and probably armored, black SUV and shoves me in.

Chapter 2

Kael

“You know this is a token bad guy car, don’t you?” I taunt, trying to work him into the same level of rage that’s simmering under my skin.

He remains disappointingly neutral. “Everyone from the government to the average citizen uses these.”

“I still stand by what I said.” He slams the door in my face. “Rude,” I mutter as I slide the seatbelt over my chest and lap.

He climbs into the driver’s seat like a chauffeur. An incredibly fit, burly, menacing, hulking bag of muscles driver whose side hustle is probably also underground fights.

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