Page 140 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

Then I remembered what he asked. I nod. I can see it on the floor among the Colombian's liquified brains. While Molly starts unbinding everyone, I pick it up as discreetly as I can and put it in my pocket. I’m guessing now’s not the time to be asking questions.

“Jessie.” A New York accent with the perfect lilt of Irish.

I’m conscious of a pair of arms wrapping around my waist from behind, and I close my eyes and lean back into his embrace.

I’ve missed him.

He slowly turns me around, and my eyes drink in the man with eyes of sapphire blue who, like me, is covered from head to toe in the life blood of others.

“You saved my life, Jessie.”

I shrug nonchalantly, a smile playing on my lips. “Well, you know. It’s all in a day’s work when you’re an accountant.”

He laughs out loud as he wraps his arms around me once more before pulling me tight against him.

Closing my eyes, I inhale the familiar citrus notes of his body wash mixed with the metallic stench of blood. When I open them, I take in the visual of Eoin looking down tenderly at Molly.

She’s saved his life today. Well, good for her. Maybe I got her all wrong. I reckon after that display he’ll commit now and marry her as soon as possible.

Result for her. None for me. My saving Dylan will make no difference to our fate.

I frown as I look from where Molly was standing to Juan’s corpse. I don’t know how she managed it from where she was standing, but aside from the deceased, she was the only person in the room with a gun in their hands, so it must have been her.

A miracle shot indeed.

“Let’s go.” I grab Dylan’s hand and start pulling him towards the door. I figure the others can clean up the bloody mess—fair’s fair.

“Where are we going?”

“Your hotel. You been on a hog before?”

“No.”

“Well, you’d best prepare yourself, Dyl, as you’re about to ride bitch.”

Motel, Colton, Nevada

“Slumming it, I see.”

A double bed and a unit holding up a TV. That’s about it.

Still, it’s clean if the overwhelming smell of Lysol is anything to go by, even if the wallpaper is peeling in places and the carpet is almost threadbare.

He slams the door closed behind us before kneeling, yanking off my boots, then standing back up. I’m struggling to breathe as his mouth instantly devours mine. I guess almost dying makes you flick the bird at everything.

Arranged marriages. Lies. Deceit. Morals. Principles.

You know, all the everyday stuff.

None of those matter. At least, not right now. All that matters is the adrenaline flavor of Dylan O’Connell exploding on the tip of my tongue.

“It’s all they had. And at least it has a bed,” he whispers hotly against my lips.

“The minimum requirement for it to be classed as a bedroom. Maybe you should build a Duster establishment here in Colton.”

“And maybe you should hush your noise, Jessie O’Brien.”

He picks me up, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist. We rode here on my hog using the back roads as we’re both covered head to toe in Colombian blood.

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