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I glared at him.
“How can you say that? I have to be worried if it involves you and the others.”
“No. That’s why I’ve kept your ass far away from all this. I would never drag you into the same war I’m going to protect you from.”
I couldn’t find fault with that. Samael had never not protected me. Even with this spectacular fail of an escape I’d made, he still kept me safe. I wanted to stand beside him, though. Not behind him.
Leaning my head against the window, I watched him from my peripheral, thinking of the past few days and comparing it to these last couple years we’d been together. He reminded me of someone…
Liege.
That one word really said everything. The only person I had ever witnessed being called that was known as the devil himself. How ironic that this same man was his blood relative? I wasn’t sure this was a good thing.
Romero was something else. He was wildly successful, though. Him and our fathers. I studied Mal’s side profile. Was that how he was able make it this far? When I thought of the connections he had—taking into consideration there were likely a ton more I didn’t know—it struck me that someone had to have been sponsoring him. I think I could connect some of the dots now, but it wasn’t something I was going to say aloud.
It wasn’t that strange since Romero was his uncle, but what was his end game? Why did he need my Mal?
“What is it?”
“I just realized you remind me of Romero,” I answered honestly.
“I can see it,” Rory agreed. “Such a beautiful man too.”
Mal scowled at the road ahead. “So, you’d fuck him too?”
Where did that come from? I bit my inner cheek, trying hard not to laugh. If he wanted me to be honest, then…
“I’d sooner rip a dick off than sit on one, but if I had to choose, he would be top pick,” Aurora cut in.
“I would do it now,” Poet seconded.
“This conversation is over.”
He drove a around bend and then took a sharp left turn. Seeing what was up ahead, I sat up taller.
A four-lane road had become more weeds and grass than pavement, and there were various vehicles that looked to be abandoned blocking our path. Aside from that, four proselytes stood off to the side just a few yards away.
“We have to walk from here. They’ll take the trucks around the other way and meet back up with us,” Mal explained.
“Why didn’t we take that way to begin with?”
He put the SUV in park and opened his door. “Because it’s a main route, and I wasn’t putting you at risk. This is the back road. Still dangerous but less so.”
“You didn’t have to do all that for me,” I protested.
“Get out,” he replied, exiting the vehicle.
I dropped my head back and sighed, taking a minute to obey his command. I prepared myself for the heat and followed everyone else’s lead.
It didn’t take long for our group to assimilate and switch off with the waiting proselytes.
“How long will it take us to get through this maze of rusted metal?” Takara asked.
“Not long, if we keep a steady pace,” Rory answered her.
I took in everything as we made our journey onward. While it seemed the majority knew their way around, this was all new to me. The roadway was practically in half, tarmac splitting apart, allowing dirt to show and endless vegetation to grow.
The abandoned cars were in a variety of conditions. Some couldn’t have been here that long, while others were so rusted, they’d begun falling apart, covered in overgrowth.
I wondered what the story behind them was. There were enough that we had to weave around a husk every couple yards. A few had old remains inside, piles of dusty weathered bones no one cared about.
We were nearing an overpass when Samael abruptly stopped walking. Before I had a chance to ask what was going on, he was shoving me into Aurora. I smacked into her chest, taking us both to the ground.
At the same time, Jin demanded everyone get down—a mere second before gunfire blasted through the air.
“Don’t move,” Aurora barked, covering my body with her own.
“What the hell is happening?” Takara yelled from nearby, hiding with Amo.
Bullets pebbled what remained of windshields, pinging off the bodies of so many cars it sounded like it was raining metal. The bullets were coming from above us—from the ivy-covered overpass with a rusted fence. I didn’t know who the fuck was shooting or why, but we would never make it back off this road if it kept up.
The rounds stopped abruptly, and a heavy clanking sound echoed.
“I think they’re reloading,” Poet remarked from wherever he’d taken cover.
Excellent, I thought grimly, wiping sweat from my brow. We were too exposed, huddled behind raggedy-ass cars like sitting ducks just waiting for a bullet to the head.
