Page 70 of Midnight Racers

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he retaliated. “You can kiss my ass later. Hold on, we’re about to head onto the motorway soon, and we’re going to try and outrun them before I have to use my car as a battering ram.”

My mouth fell open for a moment in disbelief before I snapped it shut and sunk lower in my seat. I cast a glance over my shoulder to check on Pixie, who was sitting in her pet carrier strapped in. She gave me a dark look which didn’t bode well for the furniture later.

There was a wide downward spiral from the road we were on down to the motorway, and Flynn began to pick up speed. The car behind us began to close the gap between us, as if sensing the motorway was a place he could lose us.

“Won’t the police be after you for breaking the speed limit?” I asked.

“Nah. I’ll press the button to change our licence plates as soon as we get onto the motorway.” He continued to accelerate, the car behind us matching his pace.

Our car raced up the inside lane of the motorway before Flynn began to expertly weave between cars, trying to shake the vehicle following us. We changed lanes before crossing back over again, all the time he kept checking his rear-view mirror. My heart beat rapidly in my ears as his speed crept up toward a hundred miles an hour when the legal limit was seventy.

We passed the exit that would have taken us to his house, and continued on the main route to London.

“I think the second car has joined us. He must have gone to the next motorway entrance to try and box us in. It wouldn’t be the first time someone was assassinated by a passing car on a motorway. A well-aimed bullet to a tyre at high speed will probably kill everyone in the car.” He watched the cars moving behind us. “They must think we’re going to London since they’re already taking positions in those lanes.”

“That is where we’ve been telling everyone I’ve been staying.” I tried to see the other car, but failed in the flowing lanes of traffic.

Flynn continued to move lanes until he was in the innermost lane, one of the cars following us almost alongside us, the other was a few lanes over and three cars back. I’d found him by watching the direction Flynn kept glancing in.

“Hold onto your seat,” he grated out, his jaw tightening.

Without warning, he swerved onto the motorway exit at the last possible second, accelerating up the off-ramp. It didn’t give the cars following us at high speed a chance to keep up with us. There was a hotel about half a mile down the road. Flynn turned into it abruptly, found a parking space at the very back, and turned his engine off.

“Down,” he said, pushing his seat back and sliding down. I followed him.

“What are we going to do?” I whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” he said in a mock hushed tone.

“People are following us. I don’t want them to hear me!” I gave him my narrow-eyedI’m annoyed at youglare.

“If they’re close enough to hear us, then I think we’ve lost.” He gave me that panty-melting grin that made me want to crawl onto his lap.

“Why were they there?” I asked.

“Jordan and I debated if they had maybe put motion sensors into your house. None of us are happy that we lost one for a period of time that night. He had enough time to put several surveillance pieces in the house.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I rolled onto my side to watch him.

“Because I didn’t want to worry you. We were only supposed to be there for a few minutes.”

Then I fucked up and had a temper tantrum. “I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I guess I lost it back there.”

He rolled onto his side so that we were both facing each other. “Nothing is normal at the moment, we’re all trying our best.”

There he was again trying to rationalise my actions.

“I overreact sometimes.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Only sometimes?”

My lips twitched at his shocked expression. “Maybe a little more than sometimes,” I confessed.

“You know the penalty for disobeying me is a blowjob?” he queried. “That or anal sex, you decide.”

“Why are men obsessed with anal sex? I don’t get it.” I pursed my lips and frowned. “It’s not as if I fantasise about shoving something up your ass.”

“I have no problem with you milking my prostate,” he informed me. “And for men? It’s about the ultimate submission when a woman opens every orifice to us. It means that you trust us completely with your body at every level.”

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