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“Yes.”
“Both of us?” she asks eagerly.
“All three of us.” I move to grab the suitcase I had out the other day, then toss it on the bed. “Do you have anything you need to bring?”
Zia gets to her feet and starts looking around the room. “No. Nothing other than my phone, I guess.” Then she spins in a slow circle and points toward the attached bathroom. “And that sex toy. We should definitely bring that.”
With a groan becausefuck, I flip the suitcase closed and make my way into the hall. “Grab it. I need to find Roger, then we’re leaving. Did your first victim have a car?”
I start searching for my cat again, clicking my tongue and calling Roger while I crawl on hands and knees with a semi in my jeans.
The reaction I have to this female is insane and very alarming, but the more time that passes—all of three days—the less of a shit I give. Stockholm syndrome or not, I want Zia, and I need to keep her safe because of it.
“Found the keys!” she chirps as she hurries into the living room. “And I think there’s a vehicle in the garage.”
I spot Roger hiding under the sofa, and instead of trying to pull him out, I hop up and lift it, tipping it against the wall.
“Good. Do you know how to drive?” Zia blinks at me and holds out the key ring with a rabbit’s foot attached. “We’ll figure that out together then.”
“Together?”
“Together.” I hoist my cat over one shoulder, holding him in place with one hand before I walk over and cup her cheek with the other. “We are awenow, Zia. It happened when you made me an accessory to tampering with the mail and murder.” Dipping my chin, I bring my lips close to hers, hesitating for the briefest of seconds before I give this adorably unhinged female a slow kiss. “And that’s why I need to get you out of here.”
****
I hop the curb with a loud thud followed by the scraping of metal as I turn right toward the studio, narrowly missing the streetlight when I do. Zia giggles from the passenger seat as she’s tossed around the inside of the tiny little car, some kind of Cooper or something, painted bright yellow with a black stripe down the side.
It’s absolutely hideous and I barely fit inside, but it was our only option to get to Hellcat fast enough to beat the imaginary clock I’ve conjured up.
Roger yowls from the back as I straighten out, jerking the steering wheel back and forth a couple times before I’m back on track. I’ve never driven anything like this in my one hundred and ninety-eight years of life, and I don’t really want to ever again.
If my knuckles get any whiter, they’ll be completely transparent.
“Turn here!” Zia blurts as she points her arm across my face.
Whipping the wheel left, I blast into a trash can and drive through the corner of someone’s lawn before focusing my eyes on the road. “Are you sure? I don’t see it.”
“Uhm…” She scrolls through her phone before nodding. “Turn right… here!”
With another hard jerk of the circle of death that’s supposed to steer this hunk of junk, I accidentally floor it and send us flying down the first street I’ve recognized this entire time.
“There, see.”
“I see,” I grunt. Driving this clown car from that house to the studio was the single worst trip of my life, including when I took the portal from purgatory to the surface all those years ago, and I’m pretty high strung.
More than normal, anyway.
But getting here quickly was important.
Zia’s brother didn’t exactly give her a timeline or date to be expecting herhusbandto show up, but knowing he most likely knows where she is, we needed to leave. And when I told her what my plan was, Zia got on board very quickly.
“I’m so excited to watch you record!” She squeals as I swerve into the parking lot before whipping the car into a spot. “I bet you look so sexy doing it.”
I roll my eyes as I figure out putting it in park, then throw open my door and carefully unfold myself from the seat before walking around to let Zia out. “I doubt it.”
But it doesn’t matter what I think.
This crazy little female was getting anxious the more we talked about my plan, and coming here to record was my way of trying to take her mind off that.
