Page 10 of Dark OZ

I reached over her lap, pulling the spare gun from the glove compartment. Then I pressed on her chest. “Lean back.”

I clicked the car into auto-drive, then released the wheel and aimed out both windows. With a few well-placed shots, the gunmen on either side of the exit fell. The auto-drive spun the wheel sharply to the side, and we barreled onto the street in a sharp ninety-degree turn.

Taking only a second, I leaned over my passenger and aimed straight for the driver of the car tailing us. I braced my elbow against her breast, ignoring the softness beneath my arm and her breath along my neck.

“Seriously? Is that really necessary?”

“Always.” One shot was all it took. The man fell on his wheel, turning the car and locking it at the top of the ramp, preventing anyone from following us out of the garage. Her hand rubbed at her chest where my elbow had kicked back into it. “I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.”

She groaned a low sound of annoyance, despite the fact that she was also smiling. We sped down the road, taking precautionary measures to lose any tails that we might have picked up on our exit. When we made it to the highway, I slowed back to the speed limit and flipped on my light, indicating to the world that we were just another cab with a fare.

I turned to look atthe package. Even with all she’d been through, she didn’t look flustered. No, she looked exhilarated, like she was tasting freedom for the first time.

How very foolish.

Chapter 6

“Ithinknowmightbe a good time for you to answer that question from earlier. What’s your name, beautiful?”

Ignoring his question, I twisted in my seat to scope out the car interior.

“So, do all cabs have bulletproof windows?”

On a quick inspection, this was any taxicab you’d find lining city streets across Oz—until you really started looking. Beneath the surface, you could see panels built into the doors. I thumbed at the one next to me, feeling it shift beneath my touch.

“Don’t touch that,” my mystery driver snapped at me, but it didn’t feel like there was any sincerity behind it. In fact, it almost felt like he was daring me to keep going. A row of buttons and switches lined the side of the steering column. Doubling down on the challenge, I leaned forward. There was a larger blue button behind the steering wheel demanding to be pushed. The tip of my finger barely brushed its glossy surface when he snatched my hand up in his.

“And you really,reallydon’t want to touch that one.”

A shiver of anticipation ran down my spine. I struggled to pull free, all the more determined to see what would happen when I did. His fingers wound into mine, and he lowered our hands, pinning them to the armrest. The callused pad of his thumb ran in soothing strokes over the back of my hand.

I laughed at the absurdity of it. For all the world, we would look just like any couple going for a ride. Well, except for the fact that I still wasn’t wearing any pants, and I was beat to hell.

Not bothering to try and extricate myself from his grip, I used my free hand to flip open the visor mirror. Wincing, I got my first real look at myself since Henry threw me into that truck. The thing staring back at me resembled a car crash more than a woman. I hoped Henry and his massive shiny ring were enjoying the lobby right now. Behind the veil of my limp, auburn hair, I was finally seeing the devastation that metal monstrosity had wrought on my face.

The bruise along my cheek had spread, looking almost like a bruised plum. Tiny blown blood vessels veined out from the point of impact. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was also the faint white outline of Em’s crest right in the middle of it all. I poked gingerly at it. Motherfucker, that hurt.

“It really isn’t that bad.”

Was he kidding? I shifted in my seat, noticing for the first time how very blue his eyes were, even in the dim light. This mark, coupled with the rings around my eyes from lack of sleep, made me look like some kind of clown school reject.

Myhero,if you could even call him that, gave a tiny laugh at the incredulous face I must have been giving him. “When I was seventeen, I was hit upside the head with an iron spatula. Which, unfortunately, had just been used to move hot stones from an oven.”

“A spatula?”

“Yeah. Never make a Nonna angry.” He pointed to his temple, not bothering to release my hand. A crow was tattooed into the shaved side of his head, just behind his ear. The beak stretched to his temple, and the tail circled behind his nape, with one long feather draping down his neck. The long hair tied at the top of his head was the color of straw. Even in the dark light of the cab, it looked like it glowed golden with sunlight.

Biting back the pain, I twisted so that I could run my free hand along the image and through the downy softness of his hair. Hidden among the wings, was a lattice-work of scars, though they had been cleverly covered by the feathers.

“For two years, I had a fucking tic-tac-toe board burned on the side of my head. Not to mention half my damn hair had been burned off. The point is—” He pushed our joined hands back, running his thumb down my jaw. “—it’s not that bad. That little love tap on your cheek will fade in a week, maybe two.”

“I assure you, nothing about any of my marks were made out of love.”

The car slowed, not much, but enough that I felt the change in inertia. When his leg shifted, I realized it was because his foot had slipped on the pedal.

“Why was Eastin Witcher whipping you?” There was a deadly chill in his voice, like deep shadows were hiding beneath all that sunlight. “Or better yet, why were you kneeling at her feet taking it?”

I shook at the memory but didn’t say anything, choosing instead to watch the reflective mile marker signs zoom by one at a time.

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