Page 33

ROMAN

Headlights sweep across the road.

Fucking finally.

Beckett’s black truck slows, then pulls onto the shoulder in front of me.

I push away from the tree I’ve been using to keep myself upright.

The passenger window lowers. Beckett stares at me.

His eyes move slowly from my face to my unbuttoned, blood-soaked shirt.

The bandage underneath.

The jacket draped over my arm.

All the way to my untied boots.

His gaze returns to mine. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“I got stabbed.”

“No shit, Hot Lips. I figured that out from the blood on your shirt and the giant bandage.”

I yank open the passenger door. “Stop fucking calling me Hot Lips, Mapquest.”

“Fuck, no. You’ll always be Hot Lips.”

His eyes narrow as I climb in the truck.

“Why are your boots untied?”

“I was in a hurry.”

“To escape the person who stabbed you?”

“No.”

As soon as my ass hits the seat, I regret every movement it took to get here.

Pain tears through my side. I try to breathe through it.

Beckett doesn’t move. He just watches me. “Hospital?”

“No.”

“Hot Lips.”

“I said no! Drive, dammit.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he leans closer as I pull up my shirt and lift the bandage to look at my wound.

“What the fuck are those?”

“Stitches.”