Hostile Territory - Marie James Page 0,14
day?”
“According to the information Wren found, you don’t seem to be in any danger.”
Of course he’d just ignore my questions. It’s not like I fully expected him to give me an answer anyway.
He doesn’t say a word before walking out of the office. Stubbornly, I stay on the sofa. He didn’t tell me to follow him, and even if he had, I wouldn’t trail along behind him like some damn lost dog waiting for bits and pieces of information.
I don’t really want to go back to my place, but I can’t get a hotel room for the night without returning there for my purse.
“Here.”
I look up to see a pair of basketball shoes in his hands.
“I imagine they’re going to still be too big, but these are the smallest pair we have here.”
Instinctively, I scrunch my nose at the sight of the shoes. I’m not at the country club about to play tennis, so these just won’t work at all.
“I’m wearing a Prada dress.”
“And we’re all out of fucking matching Jimmy Choos,” he growls before dropping the sneakers near my bandaged feet. “Go barefoot for all I care but hurry the fuck up. I have other shit to do.”
“Where are we going?” I snap as I regretfully tug the shoes on my feet, tying them as tightly as I can manage to help prevent them from creating more blisters.
“I’m taking you home.” He’s irritated to the max but pissing him off has always been fun for me. It’s been years, and it’s only taken a fraction of time to get right back to where we were all those years ago.
“Taking me home? How do you know I didn’t drive?”
“You don’t have any fucking keys.”
“Whoa there, detective. Calm down.”
He grumbles under his breath, but I’m on his heels when he leaves the room for the second time. The quicker I get my purse from my condo, the faster I can see the back of him. I never should’ve called his ass in the first place, and I’m kicking myself for doing just that when we’re caged alone together in a different elevator from the one I took to get up here.
When the doors finally open, we’re not in the lobby of the building I entered through but in a parking garage lined with vehicles more fitting for war than downtown St. Louis.
“Is that an armored truck?”
“I’m parked over here,” he says, once again ignoring my question.
“What the hell are you into, Deacon? I was thinking you left the military, but it doesn’t seem like it’s that far in your past.”
With the flick of his wrist, a huge black truck roars to life. I resist the urge to cover my ears as the grumble echoes off the concrete surrounding us.
“You know what they say about guys in big trucks—”
The words die on my lips when he turns and glares at me. “Do you want to walk home?”
“I’d take a fucking cab, jerk. Just like I did to get here.” After all the stairs I took out of my own building, I never want to walk more than a few feet for the rest of my life.
He sweeps his hand in the direction of the guarded exit ramp. “Move your sweet little ass then.”
Sweet little ass?
Before I can ask him if he’s paying me a compliment, he climbs in his truck, honking the horn when I don’t immediately follow. I jump like I’ve been hit with an electric pulse.
“Fucking jerk,” I mumble as I open the door and nearly break my neck trying to get inside.
He doesn’t laugh at me for having that reaction to the horn or my shoddy attempt to climb in his jacked-up truck like a normal person would. He’s too intense, too reserved for that kind of stuff, I guess.
What happened to the boy with the quick smile?
I click my seatbelt in place and stare out the window. Of course he was never smiling my way back in high school, so why should things be any different now?
“I see you still have a filthy mouth.”
“Wouldn’t you like to find out just how filthy it can get?” I say before I even think about who I’m talking to. My cheeks heat, and I know I’ll beat myself up later for it. If he wasn’t so infuriating, I’d have better control over my stupid mouth.
Thankfully, he doesn’t tease me about the slipup. Putting the truck in drive, he rolls toward the gate that automatically opens when he draws closer. His truck