“Because he doesn’t waste words on girls who haven’t earned them,” he says smoothly. “And trust me, kitten… if he ever decides to speak to you, you’ll remember every second of it.”
The one in the white helmet gets up suddenly and disappears into the darkness. He returns a minute later, dropping a bag beside me without a word.
Black helmet looks down at it, then back at me. “Hope we guessed your size right. Same dress as the one you came in wearing.” His mouth curves. “Only this one isn’t ripped open or caked in mud.”
“Why would you buy me a dress?” I ask, unable to hide my confusion.
Because what the hell is even happening?!
“We may be psychos, kitten, but we are not fucking savages.” He chuckles under his breath. Then, he slowly studies me from head to toe, unhurried and merciless, stripping away what little dignity I have left.
“And we can’t exactly let you go home looking like…” He tilts his head, attention settling on my bare feet. “…this.”
Then he tosses another bag beside me, and a pair of Prada heels spill from it the second it hits the ground.
“Those were his idea,” he says, tipping his head toward his friend. “Apparently, only Prada would do for you.”
A Gucci dress and Prada heels?
What the hell is wrong with these two?
“Nothing hotter than criminals with designer standards,” I remark dryly. Then I strip out of the wrecked dress clinging to my body and pull on the new one, pretending I can’t feel their attention all over me.
“Better,” the talking bastard breathes out, sounding almost pleased with himself.
The other one closes the distance between us, straightens the strap on my shoulder with slow precision, then lets his hand linger for half a second too long before stepping away.
Then he disappears into the dark like he was never here.
My skin burns where his fingers touched me, and somehow, I already hate how much I miss it.
The growl of engines tears through the night and pulls me back to myself, but when I glance around, there is no sign of either of them, only darkness stretching in every direction as if they were never here at all.
They left me in the middle of the forest, and instead of feeling grateful, all I can feel is rage.
They’re gone. They finally left me alone. I should be relieved, yet all that settles inside me is a sharp, restless anger I can’t explain.
Yeah… I definitely need therapy.
Chapter 13
Cain
I’m parked outside Sierra’s house, the engine humming quietly as I glance at the front door for what feels like the tenth time, wondering where the hell she is. She was supposed to meet me at the pub, but apparently ghosting me seemed like a better idea.
I tap her name again and bring the phone to my ear, letting it ring while my eyes move over the empty driveway, the trimmed hedges, and the polished front windows that still show no sign of movement inside. Nothing.
I end the call and rest the phone on my thigh, calm enough on the outside, though something darker has started to stir underneath.
I just hope she didn’t start spiraling too hard.
My thumb brushes absently over the fresh mark across my wrist, and I hiss under my breath when it stings. Before I canthink much more about it, the electric gates begin to slide open. Headlights cut across the driveway as Sierra’s car pulls in slower than usual, almost cautious, which doesn’t suit her at all. I tap the horn once to catch her attention, then step out of my car and start toward her as she parks.
Her door opens a second later, and she steps out.
Even like this, she still looks hot as fuck.
Her dress fits her perfectly, hugging every curve like it was chosen for the sole purpose of being noticed, and the usual Prada heels are somehow still on her feet, as if sheer arrogance kept them intact. But the rest of her ruins the picture. She’s filthy from head to toe.
