Nobody stops. In fact, they chuckle. Though I don’t find anything about this humorous.
“Stand down, biker,” one of the men barks.
It’s two to one, and I’m pretty sure even though Viking could take them both in a fistfight, he won’t be able to take them in a gunfight. I watched a man get shot right in front of me a few years ago, and I don’t think I could handle that again, so I hope he practices caution and doesn’t do anything crazy.
Then, before anyone else can say a word, the back door of the car opens, and I watch a man unfold.
It’s him.
It’s the man from the other day.
The one who approached me outside the bakery. He’s handsome, something I thought the first time I saw him, and he’s still handsome, even as he approaches me. His hair is short, combed and gelled, his suit neat and tidy, and his shoes are what I would consider dress shoes. He looks like he’s getting ready to go to his fancy desk job at an investment bank or something.
“You’re here for me.”
My words come out as a statement because that’s exactly what it is. It’s not a question. I know he’s here for me. He continues to close the distance between us, unspeaking. He approaches me, tilting his chin slightly as he looks into my eyes.
My breath hitches when he reaches out, his thumb and index finger pinching my chin. I didn’t expect him to touch me, and I didn’t expect to like it if he did.
“I am,” he states. “I’m Paul.”
Viking curses behind me, but I ignore him. I can’t break eye contact with Paul. If I do, something might happen to Viking. And while I’m not happy about thebabysittercomment he made to Bullet earlier, I don’t want anything to happen to him.
“Okay,” I breathe.
“Okay?” he asks.
“What the fuck?” Viking hisses behind me.
Paul’s gaze flicks behind me to him, then he jerks his chin up slightly before he shifts his gaze back down to meet mine. Thisfeels very much like a do-or-die situation, and the last thing I want is for Viking, oranyonereally, to die.
“You want me to go with you?” I ask. “Then okay.”
He arches a brow, no doubt surprised that I’m saying okay so easily, so freely. He probably came here expecting a fight, and he would have gotten it, too, if I had felt any differently. I feel his fingertips slide down the back of my hand before he hooks his index finger to my pinkie.
“Then come on.”
His words are barely above a whisper, only loud enough for me to hear. He doesn’t sound mean or scary. I don’t know if it’s fake or not, but I want everything to be real—his soft touch, his whispered words, everything.
“Nothing is going to happen to Viking, right?” I ask.
Paul looks behind me again, then frowns. “Is he your boyfriend?” he asks, his tone a bit harsher, sharper.
I almost laugh. Because it’s just that damn funny. This man is anything but my boyfriend. Clearing my throat, I say something I probably shouldn’t. It’s smart-assed and snarky. Not just that, it is going to tell him that I was eavesdropping and that it hurt my feelings, which sucks because I didn’t want him to know either.
“Nope,” I state, popping thep. “He’s my babysitter.”
Paul’s lips twitch as he slides his gaze back to meet mine. His dark eyes shouldn’t look so inviting, and his smile shouldn’t be so sexy, but they are. He tugs my pinkie, and I follow behind him.
I should ask him about my clothes and the fact that my house is right here with all my things inside, but I don’t. I follow him to his car. I probably shouldn’t be doing this. I should have forced my way to that meeting with Bullet. But this is easier. He’s right here and so is his car… and nobody is going to get hurt in the process this way.
I slip into the seat next to him, sliding over the smooth leather, and the other men walk backward and fold into the front seat of the car. The engine is still running, their guns are still pointed at Viking, and then the one in the driver’s seat shifts the car intoReverseand zooms us away in complete silence.
Only when we’re a few miles down the road does Paul clear his throat. I turn to face him, my eyes finding his. I don’t know why, but I want to believe that this could be something. It’s nothing but stupid hope.
I’ve come to hate hope.
And yet, I’m still filled with it—stupidly. I don’t know if I’ll ever not have hope. But as each day passes, it begins to fade a bit more.