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“Motorcycle is still back there and an SUV just ran that light.”
Legit ran it. Like up on the curb of the sidewalk and around then down. Were they insane?
“We’ll be fine,” Lachlan assured me as he shifted gears. We were going faster. I gripped the oh shit handle and glanced at the dashboard.
It read over three digits.
Oh, that was a mistake.
“Lachlan,” I said as he turned another corner, barely touching his brakes. The tail of the car slid around, the whole car kind of gliding with the turn before we hit the straightaway again.
My heart and lungs were back there somewhere.
Red lights ahead warned me of stopped traffic, but Lachlan wasn’t slowing down. I couldn’t breathe.
“Lachlan!”
“We’re fine, Ace. Hang on.” Except those red taillights were getting closer and closer. At what seemed like the last minute, he cut to the right and followed a ramp up to a highway that I hadn’t even seen. There were lights up here, not as many as below, but a lot heavier traffic. While the speed of the car slowed, Lachlan hopscotched his way up the lanes.
At one point, I had to close my eyes. He was making the car fit in places it absolutely should not. I couldn’t breathe, and sweat soaked my shirt. The shaking from earlier redoubled and I gripped the oh shit handle so hard, I would probably have a permanent indention.
We left the highway after a couple of miles, and then he was heading through the city, moving at much more reasonable speeds. The traffic could be bad, but at least it was moving. In almost no time, we would be back in Beverly Hills.
“There you go,” he said, smugness rolling off him. “Safe, just like I promised.”
I didn’t throw up, but it was close. As it was, I just ran a hand over my face. The shaking wouldn’t stop.
“Thank you,” I managed, though the syllables wobbled a lot like I did.
“You’re welcome,” he murmured, then pulled over to glance at me. “You shouldn’t have taken off in the club.”
“You shouldn’t have just walked up and started hitting on me.”
“Ace, the way you were dancing…?”
“The way I was dancing, what?” I dared him to finish that sentence. “I was dancing. By myself. Having fun.”
“So maybe I wanted to have fun with you.”
“So maybe you should learn to use your words instead of your tongue.”
He chuckled. Asshole. “I’ve missed you, Ace.”
“Give me five minutes, and I’ll get myself a rideshare and you can go back to it.”
The door locked and I glared at him. “Hey, I want to make sure you’re all right. You were just in a car accident.”
Fuck. “I need to call Dix.”
“Who the hell is that?” From concern to fury, the switch was enough to give me whiplash. “That the asshole with his hands on you?”
“It doesn’t matter who he is,” I told him. “I just need to let him know about the car.” I opened the rideshare app on my phone then reached for the door handle. We were in L.A. I could get it from here.
The door didn’t open.
“I’ll take you home,” he said. “You’re not calling Dix.” He said it like I’d told him Dix was an ax murderer. “Or some rideshare to end up a statistic on the news.”
“I’m already a statistic,” I muttered.
