Page 79 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
The garage is lined with rows of gleaming cars and motorbikes. Adelaide slows beside one of the bikes, her fingers brushing the handle as she murmurs, almost to herself, “Soon, I promise.”
Then she moves on, stopping at a black Bentley Bentayga, sleek and made for the mountain roads.
We pile in, Adelaide takes the wheel, Piper the passenger seat, and Octavia and I slide into the back.
The doors shut with a muted thud, the tinted glass dimming the world outside to shadow.
Through the window, I catch the men still standing there. Each of them wears a different kind of fury.
“Do you think they’ll actually let us go?” Piper asks quietly from the front.
Octavia scoffs. “Not a bloody chance.”
Adelaide’s reflection flickers in the mirror, a slow, devilish smirk curving her lips. “Let them try finding the car keys first,” she says. “And then see if they can guess which bar we chose.”
The engine rumbles to life. Tyres crunch through the snow, a spray of white following us as we pull away.
Within moments, the chalet disappears into the dark, swallowed by the mountain night.
Chapter 27
Arlo
It takes me less than five minutes to change and make my way back to the garage. The others are already waiting, coats on, tension thick enough to taste. No one says it, but we’re all thinking the same thing, we’re going after them.
Milo looks to Isaak, his jaw tight. “Where the hell does Adelaide keep the car keys? With that smug little smirk she gave you, I’d wager she’s hidden them just to fuck with us.”
Isaak exhales a short, humourless laugh. “Give me a minute.”
He strides off toward the house.
I don’t ask what he’s doing. I don’t fucking care. He’d better come back with those keys, because I’m not sitting here while Ophelia’s out there, alone, and dressed like that.
The image flashes again, uninvited. That glittering scrap of a dress, the length of her legs, every bloody thing about her, remarkably striking.
I’d wanted to drag her back, tear that dress off her until she remembered precisely who she belongs to.
My jaw tightens.
I shouldn’t give a damn where she goes, what she wears, or who dares to look at her.
But reason doesn’t stand a chance against whatever this is—this infuriating pull balanced somewhere between fury and something far more dangerous.
Isaak reappears, twirling a set of keys around his finger. “Got them.”
He heads straight for the Rolls-Royce Cullinan Black Badge. Adelaide will have his head for choosing that one, and rightly so.
He takes the driver’s seat, the man’s addicted to speed, doesn’t matter if it’s four wheels or two.
Hunter takes the passenger side, while Milo and I settle in the back. The engine growls to life.
As we turn off the chalet’s private drive and onto the main road, I lean forward. “Do you even know where they’re headed?”
Isaak’s eyes stay fixed ahead. “Somewhere they can drink, dance, and do something reckless, because Adelaide exists solely to test my patience.”
Hunter glances over. “Then we’ll have to check everything this place offers. Restaurants, bars, clubs, until we find them.”
I shake my head. “No need.” I unlock my phone, pull up the internal tracking system, and start digging.
