Whoa.
Whoa, whoa, whoa.
Stop right there.
That was too much, it was all too much, time for me to bury all this somewhere deep and have a nervous breakdown later, when Sissy and I were on a beach enjoying Dom’s money.
“Luke,” I whispered and his head came up.
I was quiet because I could tell he was listening and not to me. Then his head tilted down and I could feel his eyes on me.
I lifted my hand up between our faces, index finger and thumb held an inch apart and I said, “Maybe I’m in a little bit of trouble.”
It was then he made a noise and it sounded an awful lot like a growl.
Chapter Three
That’s Who I’m Keeping Safe
“Luke?”
“Quiet.”
He knifed off me, yanked me to my feet and wasted no time pulling me through the room, through the kitchen and out the backdoor.
I didn’t resist.
I didn’t want to be anywhere near a room that exploded with gunfire. I was more than happy to be moving away from it, swiftly, hand in hand with a tough guy, mercenary, bounty hunter, private eye type person who clearly knew what the hell he was doing.
Luke jogged through the backyard then broke into a sprint down the alley, his hand in mine, dragging me behind him (and let me tell you, it wasn’t easy sprinting in flip-flops and I was going to have to rethink my footwear on my next nail-Dom-to-the-wall assignment). I saw lights go on in houses and heard police sirens but Luke just kept going.
It took me a moment, considering the fact that I was freaking out and perhaps fleeing for my life (on flip-flops no less), to realize that he was moving in the wrong direction.
I pulled at his hand. “My car’s the other way,” I whispered loudly to his back.
He kept going, dragging me with him.
“Luke!” I hissed, tugging hard.
He didn’t stop, just kept dragging me.
We shot out of the alley and stopped next to a shiny black Porsche and he bleeped the locks. He opened the passenger side door. I had to admit, even in my current state, I was a bit impressed that he drove a Porsche.
“Get in,” he ordered, snapping me out of my thoughts about his Porsche.
“What?” I asked, confused, freaked, winded from the flip-flop getaway and wanting maybe to take a second and do a cartwheel of joy that I was still alive and not full of holes.
“Get in the f**king car,” Luke clipped.
I guessed Luke wasn’t into cartwheels of joy.
“My car is… ” I started to tell him but I stopped talking when his hand went to the top of my head and he pressed me into the car. He did this so forcefully my body had no choice but to comply. My legs just buckled and my ass, of its own accord, aimed for the seat. He slammed the door the minute my feet cleared the frame.
He was in the driver’s side before I finished blinking away my surprise.
I turned on him. “I want you to take me to my car,” I told him. My purse was in my car and I needed my purse. My cell was in my purse and, just like anyone, I felt na**d without my cell phone.
He started the Porsche (incidentally, it purred like a kitten).