“Quite a few,” he admits. “I get bored on the road, and they are somewhat entertaining.”
“You should go back to your history stuff,” I grumble. “Your brain cells aren’t trained for romance.”
“Oh, they’re trained enough,” he glares. “I’ve read that favorite book of yours, by the way. And I have questions.” It’s his turn to look offended. “Why the fuck is it about the mafia? Your favorite book should be biker shit. Mafiosos are a bunch of pussies.”
“And bikers are dicks,” I fire back. “At least a pussy can take a pounding. Pound a dick and see what happens!”
His mouth falls open. I don’t even get to enjoy it because my alarm goes off, signaling the end of my break. I silence it and look back at him with a sickly sweet smile.
“Same time tomorrow?”
He sobers instantly.
“I got new intel,” he says quietly. “I have to leave tonight.”
My heart sinks like an anchor to the bottom of the ocean. He was supposed to leave days ago. Instead, it’s been two weeks of shared lunches. Daily meetings. Even Sunday, when my bookstore was closed, the dot still showed up in the same place, right on time. And of course I followed it.
I want to tell him not to go. To stop. To let it all go. That the cartel is too strong. That revenge isn’t worth losing his life. That there’s this bad feeling that’s been clinging to me for weeks now, growing and growing.
Instead, I keep my smile in place. Hide the cracks of my heart. It was so much easier when I pretended I didn’t care about him.
“Okay. See you when you get back.”
“Thanks for dropping me off, Noah,” I say gratefully, pushing the truck door open.
“Of course.” He hesitates, then smiles. “I’ll walk you up.”
He’s already out of the truck before I can protest. By the time I close the passenger door, he’s at my side.
“You didn’t have to walk me to my door,” I tease. “I only have a few feet of driveway to survive.”
He squares his shoulders, mock-serious. “My mom raised a gentleman.”
“Ah. A mom-induced sense of honor,” I chuckle, digging through my bag for my keys.
We barely take two steps when I freeze. Noah stops too.
The porch light clicks on, triggered by the motion sensor, and illuminates a bulky, tall, very angry-looking biker standing on my front steps.
Shit.
I haven’t checked the app in over an hour. The dot was at the clubhouse then — barely got into town. I thought I was seeing him tomorrow, for lunch. Like usual.
I should’ve known. Give a biker a finger, and he takes your whole body.
I glance down at the cute dress I’m wearing. Then at Noah. Then at Noah’s truck. This looks like I just came back from a date.
Fuck.
Ghost steps forward. He’s looking right at me, not sparing Noah a single glance.
When he speaks, his voice is a full-on savage growl.
“I will paint this entire street with his blood.”
32. Thirst
Ghost
