Page 34 of Full Throttle

“I have no fucking idea,” I replied softly, the need and pleasure subsided now.

All that was left were three things:

Confusion.

Fear.

Anger.

I didn’t move from my spot until she was back asleep. Then, I quietly pulled the door shut and turned, jeans still undone, heading into the kitchen. I tried not to let the last ten minutes replay in my head. This was not the place. I needed to get out of here. I needed to clear my fucking head. I approached the sink as the wind howled outside, but I didn’t pay much attention to it.

So instead of wondering why, after all this time, she was fingering herself to the thought of me, I thought of things that calmed me down. I thought about another project, a super engine similar to the one I’d just finished up. This customer lived in LA. and didn’t know one thing about racing.

They had money and wanted bragging rights.

I didn’t give a shit if they drove the cars or not. The money was all that mattered to me.

I grabbed a paper towel before walking back to clean up the mess I made on the door. When I was done, I went back into the kitchen, pushing the mind warping pleasure I’d just experience to the back of my mind.

As I washed my hands, fastened my jeans, and tried to collect myself, something felt off in my gut. Brows furrowed, I shut the water off until there was only a drip and turned to grab the hand towel. Drying my hands, I leaned against the counter, my mind on engines and things I could control.

When I looked up, dread filled me completely.

The view of the lit-up Arch had been dimmed by the thick, unrelenting sheet of snow shooting down from the sky.

I blinked, trying to remember what the weather report had said this morning. The wind howled again, and my head snapped over to the front door as something outside banged on it. Moving around the island, I pulled out my gun, pointing it to the floor. One foot in front of the other, I made my way to the door as the banging continued. I looked behind me to see if Dominique had woken up, but her door was still closed, no light shining underneath it.

The volume of the banging got louder as two sharp ones echoed back-to-back. Finger on the trigger, I unlocked the door and yanked it open, snapping my gun up.

Standing in the middle of the violent snowfall was Sullie, bundled up. He stepped inside, not bothering to look at me or the gun pointed at him. He slammed the door and turned to me, pulling off his hat and scarf. If he was shocked to see me here, he didn’t show it.

Sullie’s brown eyes dropped to the barrel of my gun for a moment before flicking back up to my face. “You planning on shooting me, Cain?” he asked.

“Didn’t know it was you,” I muttered, lowering the gun.

He hummed, raising a brow as he looked me up and down. “What are you doing here?”

I tried my best not to stiffen at his question—one that he had every fucking right to ask. “Checking on Dominique,” I told him.

He was carrying bags and adjusted them as he walked around me. “Uh huh.”

I turned to face him, not knowing what else to say or do. His shoes pounded on the floor as he made his way into the kitchen, turning the light on above the stove after setting the bags on the island. “Storm’s here,” he said, unloading the bags.

My head turned to the window, my eyes on the snow. “Three days early,” I cursed, shaking my head. My fingers ran through my hair as I walked over the island. I pulled out my phone, checking the weather app.

“A buddy of mine who worked at the news station called me to give me a heads up,” Sullie explained as I studied the radar, the low temps and constant snow causing dread to settle on my shoulders.

“Fuck,” I bit off, shaking my head. I closed out of the app and moved to a different one, logging in, and making sure everything else was working properly.

“Exactly. This is supposed to be worse than 1982,” he told me, pulling out canned and dried goods.

“How bad was 1982, Sullie?” I questioned.

The big man halted his movements, looked at me from across the island. “A good friend of a friend froze to death in his home, boy. That’s how bad it was.”

Before I could stop myself, I looked down the hall, my eyes lingering on her door.

Would she be here alone?

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