“We’re staying up the road.” He nods in the house’s direction. “Leave your car outside the gate, and I’ll take the keys with me.”
“Fair enough.” She nods her head and walks back towards the front seat.
“Eli,” I call out to him, but he just shoves his head back inside the helmet, kicking over and looking at me to follow.“Eli!”I shout at him, but he shakes his head and only lifts his visor for me to see his eyes.
Groaning out, I finally move to the bike.
It only takes a couple of minutes before we’re turning into the driveway again.
Kicking over the seat, I pull off the helmet and look at him.
“You can’t do this?” I snap out. “What are you thinking? How do you have that money?”
“Drew, we’ll talk about it when I get back.” Pushing a panel on the bike, he glances towards the gate, I guess to make sure she isn’t coming, before handing me the gun he pulls out. “Just in case.”
Nodding my head, I slip it into my purse as he looks at me, smiling. “What?” I ask.
“There is one good thing about being blackmailed.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t give a shit that she can see us when I do this.” He whispers as he pulls me closer to him, his hand coming down and gripping my chin, and he passionately kisses me. “I told you, I’d do way worse for the woman I love.” He whispers as he pulls back.
“I love you, too.” I can’t stop the grin as I look back up at him.
Terri’s at our side as we whisper back and forth, and I step back. Eli looks over at her, holding out his hand, waiting for her keysbefore he pushes his head back into the helmet and drives out, pausing only at the end of the drive to make sure the gate closes.
“Well, wasn’t that cute?”
Cutting my eyes at her, I turn without saying a word and walk back into the house.
“This place is really nice.” She tells me as she looks around.
I refuse to speak to her as I walk back to the bedroom and changing out of my dress and into something a bit more comfortable and a bit more concealing for the gun Eli handed me.
Could I shoot my own grandmother?
I’d have to actually think of her as a grandmother to even be able to answer that question unbiasedly.
Walking back into the living room, I see her sitting on the couch, and I roll my eyes.
“You know, you’re a lot like your mother.”
“Good,” I mumble.
“Good?” she laughs. “Your mother —”
“I’d be careful what I say next…”
Shaking her head, she just turns back to staring at the wall. “Did she ever tell you she punched me in the face?”
“She did.” I nod. “She also told me how when Dad almost died, you didn’t even bother to show up.”
She’s silent, and I’m sure she’s trying to figure out a way to twistthe story to make my parents look bad.
“Khan had to call me.” She admits. “I was his next of kin; they should have called me.”
“Technically.”
