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I’m constantly checking over my shoulder, but thankfully, the airport is crowded, and I don’t see any angry faces wearing a uniform and a gun headed my way yet.
“Do you have any luggage?”
“No, just my carry-on,” I reply.
After a few more minutes, she finally slides the ticket to me, along with my change and ID.
“Gate 102. Terminal B.”
I snatch them from the counter, clip out a quickthank you, and take off toward the shuttle, my duffel bag slapping against my legs.
My heart is beating nearly out of my damn mouth by the time I make it through TSA, off the shuttle that takes me to the terminal, and ultimately reach the gate. It took fucking forever, and they’ve already called my name over the speaker. I’m panicking that I won’t make it, and they’re literally about to close the door when I finally arrive at the gate.
“Wait!” I shout.
The employee sees me coming, and I swear to God, he deserves a blowjob for kindly stepping aside and allowing me through. Even as I run down the hallway to get to the plane, I’m checking over my shoulder.
My heart refuses to return to its designated area until the plane takes off.
Even then, I’m waiting for air traffic control to stop the plane and tell them a fugitive is on board.
Chapter 1
Sawyer
Cancer tastes like shit.
I suck in deeply, menthol gliding past my tongue and filling my lungs with manufactured chemicals. How many of these do I have to smoke before cancer invades my cells, metastasizing until I’m ridden with disease?
My throat tightens and revolts against the tobacco, forcing out a harsh cough. I pull the cigarette away and stare at it, my face twisted in disgust as smoke filters out of my nose and mouth. I rock my hand, viewing it from different angles.
A bright orange glow radiates from the tip, gray ash eating at the paper.
Fire is on the tip, flaring as if to entice me to wrap my lips back around it.
Nope.
Still isn’t appealing.
A tanned hand reaches out, nabbing the cigarette before I can stub it on the sand.
“Give me that before you waste it.”
I frown. How flammable is sand? I bet not at all. It’s too dense—nothing to feed the oxygen. Not unless I pour gasoline all over it. I bet it’d make the beach prettier, though.
Fire on the shoreline of a vast, blue ocean? Who wouldn’t want to see that?
The salty sea breeze blows softly, coercing the blonde, curly tendrils around my face into a sensual dance. I tuck the locks behind my ear, too tired to pull them back into the loose knot tied low on my head.
I look over to the guy sitting next to me. His overgrown sandy hair curls against the nape of his neck and the dagger tattoo behind his ear is alluring against his sun-kissed skin. All of his tattoos are—he's covered in them.
I still don’t know his name, but his cock is nice, and that’s all that really matters. Well, that, and his murderous nicotine. He’s not the type I usually go for, but I was feeling lonely and entertained the first guy who didn’t make me nauseous.
“What kind of cancer do you think you’ll get from that?” I ask, nodding toward the cigarette in his hand.
He quirks a thick brow, his pretty blue eyes sparkling in the morning glow. “I dunno. Lung cancer is too typical. Throat?”
“Do you think you’ll die?”
