Page 95 of Tormented
“I touched your shoulder,” I deadpan. If that’s all it took, I’d hate to see her react when I do try to wake her in a hurry.
“I’m a light sleeper.”
I cock my eyebrow—an argument for another day. “We’re goin’ out.”
She tips her head to one side, bunching the sheet in her fists over her chest. “Where?”
“Got a job to do.”
Her eyes go wide before she frowns. “And you want me to go too?”
“Yeah.” I push off the bed and cross over to the rest of my clothes.
She slips her feet off the side of the bed and sits watching me as I tug my T-shirt on, sliding my cut over top. The guy we’re paying a visit to is no stranger to me, so there’s no need to try and go incognito.
“What are we doing?”
“I’m settling an issue, and you’re watching.”
Abbey stands, stretching her hands over her head. “I hope you don’t need me dressed like some cat burglar or anything; I haven’t got anything to wear but my tank and shorts.”
Jesus. Talk about unneeded distractions. “I’ve got another T-shirt on my bike.”
“Good.” She crosses the room and peers out the side of the curtain at the parking lot. “Because it looks cold out there.”
“Keepin’ warm will be the least of your worries soon.” Not getting caught in the crossfire will be up there at the top of her priorities in approximately forty minutes from now.
I leave her tugging her cut-offs on and head out to my ride to snag the spare shirt. She’s right; it is still and cool out here.
Damn it all . . . .
Exactly. Sound carries on a windless night. Going to have to be creative.
“You got everything you need?” She stands at the door to our room with the key card in her hand.
I nod. “Yeah. Lace your boots, though.”
Her hair drops into her face as she glances down at the loose ends. “Right.”
“And do you have an elastic or somethin’?”
Abbey holds up a single finger and dashes back in the room. I mount up and turn the bike on, letting the engine warm up while she sorts herself out. She emerges a few minutes later, boots laced and her hair pulled into a high ponytail. Fuck, she’s a sight I could never tire of.
“Let’s go.” Her hands clap down on my shoulders, and she mounts the bike behind me, thighs pressing in tight against mine.
Jesus. I take a moment to simply breathe and level my shit.
Hope you’re right about this, asshole.
***
“If he knows we’re coming, then why are we sneaking up?” Abbey runs her hands over her bare arms as we walk up a wooded driveway toward a lit house earmarked by the Devil’s Breed.
“We ain’t sneakin’ up,” I explain. “We’re just muddying the timeline when the cops come askin’ the neighbors questions.”
“How do you mean?”
I run a hand over my head, feeling strangely awkward about discussing my methods as though it’s some Christmas recipe to be passed down through the generations. “My bike’s loud, yeah?”