Page 40 of Anton

“Do you speak English?” I asked, my tone more urgent now.

The old man shook his head, his expression unchanging. “No,” he replied flatly, before starting to say something else in Spanish.

Shit, I couldn’t understand.

“Por favor, señor. Necesitamos ayuda,” Marcie called out, her voice steady but urgent.

She continued on with a rush of words in fluent Spanish that had me shake my head in wonder. Of course, she spoke Spanish. Another layer to her I hadn’t expected, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

The old man’s expression softened slightly as he heard Marcie’s plea and he waved us toward the back of the truck, speaking rapidly in Spanish. I didn’t understand much, but the gesture was clear enough—get in.

Marcie translated quickly as we climbed into the open back, among crates filled with olives and pears.

“No phone,” she said quietly, her brow furrowing. “Signal’s bad here apparently, but he’ll take us to the nearest village.”

“Good enough,” I muttered as I helped her climb up. My hands brushed a little too close to that biteable ass, which for all of two seconds was in my face, just at the right angle, too. Sniggering, I bit the inside of my cheek, barely holding back. God, I really was on the verge of losing control.

“Gracias,” she shouted in reply to something else he said.

I raised an eyebrow in question.

“He said help ourselves to some fruit.”

The old man looked back at us through the rear window. I gave him the thumbs up once we had settled down beside each other and he drove off.

“Oh, these look yummy. The cherries were great, but you didn’t eat nearly enough. A guy your build has to keep his strength up.”

Marcie smirked, handing me a pear from one of the crates, but I saw the concern in her eyes.

“Thanks, honey,” I murmured, accepting it gratefully. It had been a long time since anyone had looked out for me. I found myself briefly pausing, the unexpected warmth of the gesture making something tighten in my chest. But I forced myself to focus on munching the pear, deliberately avoiding watching Marcie eat hers. That had almost been too much for me last time.

A short while, and a couple more pears later, bouncing along in the back of the truck, I allowed myself to relax a bit more, sure we’d lost the hunters for now.

“So, what did you tell him happened to us?” I asked.

“I said we’d been out for a drive in our rental car and it had broken down. Since we were out in the middle of nowhere and neither of us had our phones—because it was supposed to be a romantic getaway—we had to walk, got a bit lost, and ended up here. I told him we needed a phone, but since he doesn’t have one, he offered to take us to town to find a mechanic.”

“Great thinking,” I replied with a grin.

Marcie smiled back at me, and for a brief moment, the tension in her face melted. I couldn’t look away. Her eyes met mine, and everything clicked into place.

The woman wasn’t only calm in a crisis—she could think on her feet. I loved it. In fact, I loved everything about her. Oh shit. There it was—the admission I’d been trying so hard to ignore. Somehow, despite everything, Marcie Matthews had not only shattered the walls around my heart, she’d obliteratedthem. And that thought both terrified and thrilled me in equal measure.

Drawn by that pull I’d felt since the start, I leaned closer. My Little Miss Sassy’s lips parted, and I took the invitation, cupping her cheek as I kissed her.

The taste of her was grounding and electric all at once. Sweet and real, stirring something deep and unshakable until I was lost in it, drowning in the heat of her, like nothing else existed but us.

The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the moment.

Marcie gasped, jerking back as the truck swerved violently. I threw myself over her, shielding her as bullets slammed into the crates around us.

The old man shouted from the cab, his voice rising in panic. “Qué está pasando?” he yelled.

“Hombres malos nos están persiguiendo! Por favor, conduzca más rápido! Necesitamos llegar al pueblo!” Marcie shouted back, her voice urgent.

A string of rapid Spanish I didn’t have a clue about, mixed with curses I could understand, spewed from the old guy as he slammed his foot down on the gas.

“What’s he saying?” I shouted, scrambling to my knees and pulling the large crates in front of us for protection.

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