Crazy Eights (Stacked Deck #8) - Emilia Finn Page 0,95

walking into a trap!” I growl. “Jamie, he’s walking into an ambush.”

“No,” he sighs. “He’s not. The only traps Soph sets are to fuck up the other guy. Will is in good hands.”

Yeah, he’ll be in good hands once I can escape this car and get my ass back there to stop him from walking toward his own death.

“Settle in,” Jamie murmurs. “We’ll stop in a couple hours for dinner.”

“So, you’ve got a couple choices…”

Jamie pulls the SUV into a parking lot outside a bar that looks to be at about half capacity. Trucks, motorcycles, and cars take up space around us; all of them are dusty. The light above the bar flashes and flickers, and the front door swings from partiers passing in and out.

“We’re staying at the hotel a few blocks up. The room is ready, and our key is sitting inside waiting for us. We can eat here, sit inside, chill the fuck out for a minute, and watch folks make dicks of themselves because they’ve been drinking.”

“Sounds like a blast,” I drawl. “Next.”

“Or there’s a fast food joint just back there.” He pokes a thumb over his shoulder. “We passed it on the way in. We can get something in the drive-thru and take it back to our room. I’m pretty wrecked after all the face-kicking nonsense, so…”

“So greasy food in a shitty room, or greasy food in a bar?”

“That’s what I’m sayin’.” He lifts a brow. “Dealer’s choice.”

I consider my options. I can go into the bar, and escape out the bathroom window, or I can go to the hotel, and escape out the bathroom window. Basically, all of my plans involve windows and then lots and lots of running.

I look down to my hand – strangely, my fingers are still woven with Jamie’s. It’s as though, after a while, I decided I’d rather hold his hand than be proud. And hell, but that’s a massive concession from a woman as proud as me.

“Q?”

I look back up and study Jamie’s warm chocolate eyes. The wrinkled V that sits between his brows that wasn’t there four years ago. The rough stubble on his jaw. Then I nod. “Inside, please. I think I wanna see people make dicks of themselves.”

He blows out a soft, breathy laugh. “Alright. I’m gonna have to uncuff you, but I swear, if you run, I might reconsider the no kicking rule.”

I nod and watch as he grabs the single key and slides it into the lock at my wrist. He frees me from my restraint, frees himself too, and then meeting my eyes – one last warning – he turns away and pushes his door open.

I don’t want to run yet. I’m hungry, and dying for a little space outside this car, so I slide out and behave myself. I reach my arms to the sky and smile a little when my left shoulder doesn’t hurt too bad.

I mean, it hurts, but I seem to be adapting to it now. Sad, strange reality, but I’m nothing if not resilient.

Jamie comes around to my side while I’m stretching, which means his eyes automatically drop to the inch of belly now exposed because my top has ridden up. I could tease him that he still looks at me. That he’s still attracted. That he couldn’t say no if I told him to take me to bed. But hell, there hasn’t been much more than a minute since this all began when I wasn’t looking at him, too.

Maybe my brain says I want out… but that doesn’t mean my heart and hormones are listening.

Bringing my arms down and fixing my top, I step into his space and wind my arm around his. The irony is rich – from one restraint to another – but for now, for the next hour, we can be allies.

“Did you start dating another boy-name-for-a-girl after I left?”

He shakes his head and leads me through the front entrance until we’re assaulted with loud music and cigarette smoke. I guess out here, they still smoke in bars. “Nope. Can’t say I took a second look at one single chick after you left.”

“Not one?” I glance up and study the underside of his jaw while he leads me to a booth in the far corner. We pass a crowded pool table. A long bar with all but one or two stools already holding someone’s ass. “Not one single chick? Not even an angry fuck in a closet somewhere so you could get back