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Jackson slows down the car for a sharp turn in the road. “Why’s it a bad thing?”
I scrape at the chipped nail polish on my thumbnail. “I guess it’s not really bad. It’s just not necessarily a compliment.”
Jackson trades an indecipherable look with Wilder, their eyes sparkling with amusement, which makes a hint of uneasiness stir inside me.
Are they making fun of me? Or are they up to something?
With a slight nod of his head, Jackson redirects his attention back on me. “You know what? I think from now on I’m going to call you Cute Girl.”
My lips plummet to a frown.
Jackson chuckles. “Oh, come on. Get that cute, pouty look off your face. I promise, it’s a compliment.” He presses his hand to his chest. “Because I just so happen to think cute is an awesome word, and I don’t throw it around lightly.” He removes his hand from his chest to playfully tug on a strand of my hair. “I only use it when I think something is completely and utterly adorably cute.”
My cheeks flood with heat, but not in a bad way.
Holy glittery, dizziness, I’m not so sure I can hate the word cute when he’s looking at me that way.
Wilder snickers. “And that, Zhara, is how Jackson hurts people in a non-physical way. He charms some poor girl, who takes his flirting as more than what it is. They get attached and then Jackson breaks their hearts when he tells them he’s not looking for a relationship.”
“Hey, I’m not trying to charm her. I’m being completely honest. I think Zhara’s cute.” He faces forward, gripping the wheel with two hands. “And you kind of insulted Zhara by implying that she was some poor girl taking my compliment out of context.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Wilder’s gaze darts to me. “Zhara, I swear that’s not what I meant.”
“I didn’t think you meant it that way.” Honestly, I didn’t. Besides, even if I did, I can tell Wilder didn’t mean anything mean by what he said. “I promise.”
“Good. The last thing I need is to get started out on the wrong foot with you.” Wilder yanks his fingers through his hair as he flops back in the seat. “That’s Xavier’s thing.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jackson grumbles. “He seriously needs to get his head out of his ass, if we’re going to make this work.”
“I know he does… And we need to make this work, if we’re going to…” He trails off as he glances at his phone. “Hold up. Benton just sent me a text.”
“What’s it say?” Jackson asks.
Wilder taps a few buttons on his phone. “He’s saying that we need to keep Zhara away from the apartment for the rest of the day. That there might be a Rogue in the area.”
“Are you fucking shitting me?” Jackson’s grip on the wheel tightens. “We haven’t had a Rogue around here in forever.”
“I know.” Worry fills Wilder’s eyes as he puts his phone into his pocket.
“What’s a Rogue?” I ask.
Wilder rests his arms on his knees. “It’s a spy who’s quit all the organizations and works as a freelancer. And usually they have a vendetta against the organization they used to work for, so they can be dangerous.”
When I start to frown, Wilder brushes his finger along the brim of my nose. “No frowning. You’re safe. I promise.”
I force a smile and Wilder sighs. But then a smile tugs at his lips.
“Jackson turn the radio up,” Wilder says and Jackson complies.
An oldies song plays through the speakers and Wilder begins to sing. He has a nice voice, gravelly, in a sexy way.
“Come on, sing with me,” he encourages. “I know you know this song.”
True. I do know the song. It’s a classic and my dad was really into them. But I’m not much for singing in front of people. However, when Wilder pouts out his lip and says, “Please, pretty please, Zhara, sing with me,” I surrender.
“Oh fine.” I belt out the lyrics with him.
He laughs and sings with me. Jackson joins in, and for the next couple of minutes the three of us sing. I get so lost in having fun that I almost forget why I’m here with them. But then Jackson suddenly stops singing, his fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.
“Shit.” Jackson cuts our singing off with a string of curses, his gaze darting to the rearview mirror. “We’re being followed.”
Wilder and I both whip around in our seats. Sure enough, a large, black SUV is tailgating the Chevelle.
“How long has it been behind us?” Wilder asks.
Jackson shrugs while changing gears. “I noticed it when we first turned onto the highway, but I didn’t suspect they were following us until I made that last right hand turn.”
“Are you positive they’re following us?” Wilder wonders. “They could just be one of those people with some seriously bad tailgating issues.”
“Maybe.” Jackson sounds doubtful, though, and honestly so does Wilder. “There’s only one way to find out.” He changes gears again and the engine roars. “Zhara, put your seat belt on.”
“I already have it on.” My pulse quickens even more as he slams his foot down on the gas and the car zooms forward, the tires spinning.
Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap, two hours into this and I’m already involved in a car chasing race? What have I gotten myself into?
But underneath the fear, resides a drop of… Well, I’m not really sure what it is, but I definitely don’t hate the feeling.
Holy crap, I’m twisted!
“Not that seat belt,” Jackson says with his eyes trained on the road. The sun has already begun to descend behind the shallow hills, the land shadowed by the greying sky, and he turns on the headlights. “Put on the shoulder straps.”
“The what?” I stare at him stupidly. But since when do cars have shoulder strap seat belts?
“Shit, you have no idea what I’m talking about… I forgot…” Jackson peers in the rearview mirror, his jaw clenching. “Wilder…”
“On it.” Wilder scoots forward in the seat, opens the console, and pounds his hand against a round, red button labeled: For Emergencies Only.
And no, I’m not kidding. Trust me, I’m not that imaginative.
Before I can even freak out over the fact that Wilder pushing the button means I’m currently in whatever they consider an emergency, my seat starts to vibrate. At first I think the seat is going to eject out of the car or something, but then a series of clicks sound off and two shoulder straps pop out from a hidden compartment in the seat.
“See, shoulder straps.” Wilder grins, but his smile goes poof as the car jerks harshly to the right.
We both freeze as Jackson struggles to realign the car, a sequence of very colorful words fleeing from his lips. He just about overcorrects, but manages to regain control before the car skids into the river. Then suddenly everything starts moving in fast motion. Jackson shifts to the highest gear and floors the gas pedal, zooming toward a sharp turn in the road, while Wilder works to put the shoulder straps on me.
“Relax,” Wilder whispers as he clips the last of the buckles into place. “Nothing’s going to happen. Jackson’s the best driver out of all of us. He even races at the track sometimes.”
I appreciate his attempt at trying to get me to calm down, but I have no clue who’s following us or why, and not knowing makes me uneasy. Plus, Jackson’s driving straight towards a turn that nearly does a one-eighty. At the speed we’re going…
I cover my eyes. I don’t even want to watch what’s about to happen. Can’t watch myself die in a car crash, just like my parents.
Guilt begins to crush against my chest as I realize the bigger picture. That if I do die, my siblings are going to have to deal with another death.
What have I done?
“You’re not going to die.” Wilder’s voice breaks through the roar of the engine as he gently pries my hands away from my eyes.
I’m unsure if I accidentally spoke my thoughts aloud again, or if he just senses the cause
of my terror.
“You’re not going to die.” Wilder repeats, fixing his finger underneath my chin to angle my head up. “I promise.”
I may not know him very well, but the intensity in his eyes makes me believe him. Gradually, the tension leaves my body and my pulse slows down a notch.
I’m going to be okay. I’m going to be—
The car gives another harsh jerk as a loud boom echoes through the air.
And just like that, my heart rate skyrockets again. My hands shoot to the shoulder straps, and I hold on for dear life as the ride suddenly gets bumpy, like we’ve veered onto a dirt road.
“Did they just run into us?” Wilder asks, throwing a glance behind us
“Nope.” Jackson sounds as calm as can be as he downshifts.
Puzzlement etches into Wilder’s features. “Then why the heck are you slowing down?”
“Because we blew out a tire.” The smell of burnt rubber floods the cab as Jackson maneuvers the car to the side of the road. Then he shoves the shifter into park, silences the engine, and twists in his seat to face me. “I hate to do this to you Zhara, but we’re going to need you to go undercover.”
I tighten my death grip on the shoulder straps. “Like right now?”
“Yep, like right now.” He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “You’ll be all right. Just follow our lead.” Appearing way too calm, he reaches for the door handle to get out.
I, however, don’t share the feeling.
This so isn’t going to end well.
Sexy… who?
“Hold on a second,” Wilder says before Jackson gets the door open.
Jackson pauses, turning back around. “We don’t have a second. We need to get out and deal with this shit before they get us trapped in the car.”
“I know that.” Wilder’s gaze is all over me, as if searching for something I’m not sure he’s going to find. “Just check your weapons while I work on this.” His head tips to the side as he stares at my shirt.
