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I lean forward, pressing our chests together, and Shane surprises me with another smack, to my other cheek this time. I wail in surprise, my muscles clenching against him once more.
Shane chuckles darkly, his eyes sparkling. “Mmm, I’ll have to remember how tightly you squeeze me when I spank you, but we really do need to go.”
I grin down at him, happy I got my way and knowing he got his way too. I give him a soft kiss, stroking his face and nodding. “Okay, let me rinse off and we’ll go.”
He grabs a handful of my mess of hair. “Oh, no, Angel. Bad girls don’t have time to take a shower. You’re gonna ride in that car all night, feeling me between your legs, knowing that cum you so desperately wanted is deep inside you. That you’re marked by me.”
He runs his thumb along my neck, and though I haven’t looked in a mirror since our session last night, I can feel that there’s a heck of a hickie glowing on the pale skin there. It makes me tingly inside, proud that he wanted such a visible sign of what we did.
I smirk, running my fingertips along the claw marks on his chest, knowing I’m not the only one marked. “All right, Bad Boy. But then that goes for you too. You’re gonna have my scent all over you tonight too.”
He grins, wiggling his hips and sending another little tingle through me. “Maggie, I would happily smell like your sugar anytime you’ll let me.”
The sweetness of the moment is short-lived because as we head out to the car in the golden setting light, I see a familiar face heading our way. Pulling hard on Shane’s hand, I point. “Shane, that’s the hitman.”
Shane follows my finger, seeing the large guy who has already spotted us. We duck and try to make our way through the cars in the lot, shuffle-running toward ours as fast as we can.
No luck, though, as the window in the car next to us shatters violently. “Get down!” Shane yells, shoving me to the ground. The rough pebbles bite against my palms and against my cheek, but that’s nothing compared to the fright racing through my body as I scramble behind a tire, hoping I’ve got enough to protect me.
Seeing that I’m listening, Shane pulls a gun out of his waistband at his back. What the ‘fridgerator? I didn’t even know he had a gun! Has he been carrying that thing this entire time and I just didn’t notice?
Popping his head up from between the cars, Shane aims toward the hitman and fires, his shot much louder than the first. Shane fires off three more shots and I hear glass breaking again. “C’mon!” Shane growls, grabbing my hand and pulling me up, placing it on his waistband at his back, right where the gun had been.
He starts to walk carefully but quickly, leading me toward our silver sedan as his head stays on a swivel, scanning in the direction of where he shot. Pffzt . . . pffzt . . . two shots whizz by us from behind, more air whooshing than a bang, and somewhere in my head, I realize the hitman has a silencer on his gun while Shane’s is ringing loudly as he fires back again.
We sprint, reaching the car in a second that feels like an eternity. Shane yanks the passenger door open and shoves me in, still looking for the hitman. “Stay down.”
It’s silent for a few seconds that feels like forever, until the driver’s door opens and I see Shane again. I start to sit up when I hear the pffzt sound once again and Shane grunts. “Fuckfuckfuck.”
“What happened?” I ask, but Shane just slams his door, jamming the keys in the ignition before peeling out.
From the floorboard, I stare at Shane, who seems angry, but in control, nowhere near the basketcase-in-shock that I currently am. “Shane?”
His eyes cut from the rearview mirror to the road in front of him twice more before he looks down at me. “You okay? Are you hit?”
I shake my head, wanting to get up but afraid to move from my protected little hole. “No. I’m okay, but what—”
He takes a turn fast, throwing me toward the door, and then another, throwing me forward into the seat, where I plant my hands. His eyes flick their circle again, rearview mirror, front windshield, then me. “You can get in your seat now. Buckle up.”
I quickly do as he says, immediately looking out the side mirror behind us. “Is he following us?”
“No, I don’t think so. Not right now, at least. But we need to ditch this car.”
I’ve been undercover for stories before and have experienced a lot of stuff, but nothing like this. I feel like I’m in a freakin’ action movie, like somewhere along the way, I got mixed up in something way above my pay grade. But I refuse to be the too stupid to live girl who always ends up dead or causing the hero to die because she’s running around like a chicken with her head cut off, panicking at every turn.
