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“We’re taking a detour,” Freddie says.
“We’re going shopping,” I add in an enthusiastic sing-song voice.
“We won’t be long,” Freddie says. His rigid posture suggests he would rather gouge out his eyeballs with a cocktail stick. “Stay in touch.”
Freddie ends the call before Callen can think of a snarky remark. His jaw tenses as he bites down on his back teeth hard.
“Come on,” I joke. “It’ll be fun.”
“Not as fun as slitting Alaric’s throat.”
The low, threatening edge to his voice sends a shiver down my spine, making me squeeze my thighs tightly together.
“You know what, I think you might be more fun when you’re not trying to act like a saint all the time,” I say.
“You have no idea,” he growls, throwing a sharp right and sending me thudding into the side of the car.
Motherfucker did that on purpose.
I still can’t believe Freddie agreed to a shopping trip, but I’m going to enjoy my short taste of freedom. It made sense for the others to continue the journey. It’s best for Seb to avoid being seen in public places, and Bram can only put on a brave face for so long—if his injuries don’t kill him, sitting next to Callen will.
He speeds through the car park and reverses straight into a vacant spot, ignoring another car that had been patiently waiting for the space. You snooze, you lose, sucker.
“If you try anything when we’re in there…”
His trailing sentence leaves a threat hanging in the air, but he has nothing to worry about. Where else would I go?
“Come on,” I say, trying to open the locked door, then pouting. “I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs, unlocking it. “We’re in and out, understood?”
I roll my eyes as he unlocks it and mutters sarcastically, “Whatever you say, boss.”
We walk to the entrance, where a group of young women are checking out Freddie. I glare at them as they look me up and down, judging my odd outfit ensemble. A woman points at the bruising around my ankles and whispers to her friend.
“What?” I stop to challenge their ogling stares. “We’re into bondage, okay?”
They gasp in outrage as I stomp past, while the tips of Freddie’s ears turn pink. The outing will be even more fun if I can embarrass him.
He takes my arm and steers me inside. “We need to get you new shoes and something that covers your legs pronto.”
“Why?” I tease, fluttering my eyelashes. “Aren’t shackle bruises the latest fashion statement?”
He can’t cause a scene in a public place, and he knows it. Except he’s right. A run-in with the police is the last thing we need. The Killers Club have connections everywhere.
“It’s not a joking matter,” he warns, leading me to look over the shopping centre map. He scans it quickly and sets off again, dragging me along with him like a pull-along case.
“Hey!” I object as we weave through the flow of people to the most expensive row of shops. “I can walk on my own. Do you want people to think you’re kidnapping me?”
“Fine,” he sighs, taking my hand and sliding his giant fingers through mine. “Happy now?”
At least this way people would think we were a couple, even though his hold is tighter than a Boa’s.
“Can you ease up?” I say. “How am I supposed to try on clothes if you cut off the blood flow to my hand?”
He loosens his grip as we stop in front of a shoe shop. The window display is classy and sleek, with only a few pairs of shoes out. It’s empty inside because normal people can’t afford to buy shoes in a high budget range. Who wants to take out a mortgage to pay for six-inch heels?
“We can go somewhere else,” I say. “We—”
