Indeed, we’d practically dissected the car in our need to verify that no part of the Mustang had been tampered with, that every component was where and how it was supposed to be. The brakes were in perfect working condition, as was the steering, the souped-up V8 engine, all of it. We’d even stolen defibrillator paddles from the school and stashed them in the trunk, just in case. None of us were fans of stealing, but if we tried to buy them, we worried someone would rat us out to Magnum and the jig would be up before we’d had the chance to make substantial progress.
“It’s a short, straight run,” Griffin persisted. “It’ll be smooth sailing. I’ve driven it tons of times. As have you.”
“That was before …” I hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Hurriedly, I adjusted. “Before Rich asked Uncle Magnum for the Aston Martin. How are you gonna beat the Aston Martin Valkyrie?”
Griffin chuckled smoothly. “You know as well as I do. The car’s part of it, sure, and the Aston Martin’s a fucking beauty, no doubt. But more than the car, it’s the driver. And I can outdrive the fuck out of Rich Connely. Besides, Clyde’s a sweet ride too.”
“Fuck yeah he is,” Brady agreed.
I said, growing desperate. We were on the final stretch of road that would intersect the crossroads. We were almost there.
Griffin said.
From the seat behind Griff’s, Brady sucked in an affronted gasp. Then he pretended he’d choked, coughing for our likely eavesdroppers.
Layla said.
Brady snapped.
Layla laughed, and it came off as if she were laughing at her brother as he choked on his spittle. Knowing the two of them, it was believable.
Once more, Griffin’s hand found its way to my thigh. If anyone had planted night-vision cameras in here, we were fucked; the darkness wouldn’t conceal that we desperately wanted to be more than friends.
Griffin’s deep voice filtered softly through my mind.
Brady said.
Layla said.
Griffin said.
And just like that, I was forced to accept I’d lost this battle. After a round of deep inhales that did nothing to settle the unease churning inside me, I nodded into the darkness.
Griffin said, and his smile was so fucking sexy and gorgeous that he felt larger than life. Like no one could ever take him from me.
Griffin was passion and fire and intensity. He was broodiness and rough edges and power. Griffin waseverything.
By the time we pulled up to where dozens of cars were parked on the shoulder of the two-lane country road, excitement had replaced my unease, and I buzzed with it.
“Looks like Rich got the word out,” Layla said as Griffin pulled to a stop close to the front.
She exited first. Brady and Hunt filed out next, the three of them waiting for us.
I was pushing open my door when Griffin leaned over, his hand covering mine to pull it shut again.
Griffin said.
