Page 30 of Full Throttle

Leon told me that Jeremy was telling her everything tonight.

Everything I tried to keep her from.

Everything I tried so fucking hard to protect her from.

I failed.

I failed to protect her.

I failed her. Once again, like a broken record, I failed her.

The intersection was a hundred meters away, and I was still struggling to make a fucking choice.

Go to her. Talk to her.

Leon also told me that Dominique was here to stay. She didn’t want to leave, and the boys weren’t going to make her.

“She’s a good fucking driver, Cain,” Leon said plainly.

“I know she is,” I muttered back.

Last time I saw Dominique before seeing her in Denver, she didn’t know shit about racing.

That was a different story now.

Everything was different now.

She had talent. Talent wasn’t taught. It was given.

As the intersection drew closer, I knew I had a decision to make. I could check on her from afar, or I could go to her. The red light ahead switched to green, and her smiling face and deep green eyes flashed before me. “Dammit,” I clipped, shifting again and gaining more speed as I flew through the intersection, the left turn to go home a distant memory.

I needed to see her.

Five minutes later, I was shifting down, slowing the Supra as pulled into the alleyway behind Sullie’s. I parked, shutting the car off before leaning back in my seat, my eyes on the windows above.

The lights were out, but the glow from the purple neon sign across the street poured into the loft. Sullie was long gone, the bar closing over two hours ago. It was nearly four in the morning. I knew she’d be asleep, but I had to lay eyes on her.

I ran my hand down my face, exhaustion falling over me.

Once I laid eyes on her, I could go home. I needed sleep. I needed a shower. I needed food.

I needed a fucking cigarette.

Opening the car door, I folded my body out of the vehicle, shut the door and locked it up. As I walked up the stairs, I pulled out the key I had made to the loft the day after she got here. Once I was at the top, I looked around, scanning the alley around me. My body tensed as my eyes landed on a black town car parked on the next street over, its headlights shining bright as it lingered.

My gut twisted as instinct kicked in.

Minutes passed, but I didn’t take my eyes off it, memorizing the front plate number. I couldn’t see the driver; the windows were tinted too dark. About seven minutes later, my ass fucking freezing, the car took off, crawling down the street and turning right at the stop sign.

“Shit,” I muttered, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

Closing the door quietly, my eyes scanning the living room.

The couch had been moved to line up with the TV on the brick wall, and a heavy throw blanket was tossed over the back. There were to-go food bins left on the island in the kitchen, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. I moved, cleaning them up quietly. I put them in the trash and noticed it was full. I bagged it up, tied it, and walked it to the door, placing it outside for me to take down when I left. I replaced the bag in the trashcan scanning to make sure the kitchen was spotless.

It wasn’t. There were some dishes in the sink.

Leave it, Cain.

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