Page 49 of XO Karma

Pulling away, he glances over at me. “Put your seat belt on.”

“Are you serious?” My brows tug together.

“Would you rather die?”

I tilt my head. Does he want to keep me alive just to kill me himself? I suppose if I died in a car accident, it would take some of his fun out of it. My eyes fall to his unprotected chest. Hypocrite. “You don’t have yours on.”

“Lily.” His tone is firm as he turns onto the dark main road and directly between the flush trees. He glances over briefly, then curses under his breath, easing the car to the side of the road.

“What are you doing?” I ask as he puts the car in park.

His eyes hold mine. “Your safety is non-negotiable.” I’m left speechless as he leans over the center console and reaches past my head, large bicep so close I could bite it, but I won’t. The belt is tugged across me with a whir and clicked in place. His knuckles rest against my hip, and his eyes drop to my lips.

“Aren’t we—” I clear my throat. “Outrunning a murder or something?”

“Right.” He blinks, gaze still locked in. He blinks a few times more, then retreats, clicking on his own seatbelt, and puts the car in drive.

Once we’re back on the road, trees pass by with zero visibility between them, and I’m grateful for not having to escape by running through the Blackridge Forest.

The only illumination is from the car’s headlights, and while he’s driving slower than I’d like, I also don’t want to avoid being caught just to end up as roadkill.

His hands grip and release the steering wheel every few seconds, but I don’t dare break the silence between us. My mind is whirling with so many questions, I doubt I could hold a conversation anyways.

Should I ask him about the calls? What if he doesn’t like that I’ve caught on and gets angry, and all this really is his game before he kills me?

What if it’s not him? I’m unsure if I’m ready to tell anyone about it.

What was with that kiss? I know it was fake, but damn, was it good. Heat pulls between my thighs, and I shift in place. Shit. To avoid leaving a puddle on his passenger seat, I redirect my mind to the topic of murder.

No sexy kissing thoughts. Only murder thoughts.

What the hell is happening to me?

“Do you think it was an accident?” finally slips out of my mouth.

“What do you mean?” Aster asks.

“The…” I fidget with my nails. “The woman. Do you think they meant to kill her?”

He glances my way, then quickly returns his eyes to the road. “Yes, I think they meant to kill her.”

“Okay, but why? Who was she?”

“No clue why, but I did see her earlier in the night talking to Frederick Vetrel.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Vetrel’s Bar is his place. He has his hands in all kinds of stuff.”

“What were they talking about? Do you think this Fred guy killed her?”

He shrugs. “I have no clue. But they didn’t seem like they were making small talk. So I’d imagine whatever he’s in, she is—or was—too.”

The anonymous caller said everything would make sense by morning. What will make sense? I’m more confused than ever.

Once again, we fall into anxiety-ridden silence until we’re only a few blocks from my house. He takes a sharp turn, driving in the opposite direction of it, and panic courses through me.

“Where are you going?” I ask.