Page 54 of Six
“Radar detector,” she answered, gunning the engine and once again moving into the left lane to pass a row of slower cars.
“Aren’t those illegal?”
She shot him a look. Okay, thatwasa dumb question considering they’d basically just killed a man. Arguably, it was self-defense, but still.
He fell silent as she continued to pick up speed and pass several more cars. He held his commentary for several minutes as she weaved between lanes. There weren’t that many cars on the road, but as she was now traveling close to a hundred miles an hour, what cars there were came and went fast.
“This isn’t exactly a Ferrari,” he pointed out, knowing damn well he was taking his life in his hands by making the comment. Still, maybe he could distract her enough so that she didn’t feel the need to drive like she was on a racetrack. Again, it was nice that she felt the need to do that for him, and her driving was impeccable, but still…
“I fucking know that,” she gritted out as she flew by a Porsche.
He turned in his seat, then tried to hide the involuntary breath he sucked in at the pain the small movement caused. He stood by his reasons for not going to the ER, but damn DePalma had delivered a solid wound.
“You’ve trained in a Ferrari?” he asked.
Her eyes flickered to him, then refocused on the road. “Not only am I an AISE agent, but I’m a fucking Italian billionaire. I’ve been driving Ferraris since I was thirteen.”
He had no problem imagining Violetta behind the wheel of the powerful car at such a young age. In fact, he would have paid money to see her tackle the famous training track. He didn’t doubt for a minute that after a few laps, she owned it.
He fell back into silence again, but it didn’t last long. A few minutes later, Violetta’s phone rang. Bringing the call up on Bluetooth, he answered for her.
“Hello, Cyn,” he said.
“You might want to tell Six to slow down. There’s a speed trap about three miles up,” she said. At a hundred miles an hour, three miles flew by fast, and on cue, Violetta’s radar detector started beeping. She slowed to a sedate sixty-five.
“What did you do to piss her off?” Cyn asked. “She’s grumbling in Italian.”
“I got injured,” he answered. Cyn already knew that; they all did. They’d called the club the minute they were back on the road and updated everyone.
“I see,” Cyn said with a chuckle.
“There’s nothing funny about this, Hyacinth,” Violetta snapped, making Cyn laugh even harder.
“There is, Six. There really is,” Cyn responded. Gavin thought Cyn might not be making the best choices with her comments, but he didn’t want to get in the middle of it, so he remained silent.
“We’re thirty minutes out,” Violetta said. “Are Nora and Devil ready?”
Cyn sighed. “Yes. As we told you when we first spoke and then again by text, Devil and Nora have their kits and will be ready to take care of Gavin’s wound the second you arrive.”
Without another word, Violetta ended the call. They’d passed the speed trap and its five patrol cars a few minutes back. When another five minutes passed with no sounds from the radar detector, she picked up her speed again.
“Why Hyacinth?” he felt safe in asking.
“Because that’s her name,” Violetta snapped as she shifted down into fourth gear to give her the power to pass a couple of more cars. “Lady Hyacinth Steele,” she added before shifting back into fifth at a comfortable cruising speed of a hair under a hundred miles per hour.
“Lady?”
Violetta nodded. “Her father is the twelfth Marquess of Alderbrook.”
Gavin frowned. Franklin hadn’t mentioned that. Not that it mattered, but still, it seemed like kind of a big thing to leave out. He’d known she came from money—they all did—but he hadn’t known Cyn was a member of the aristocracy.
“What about the others?” he asked.
Violetta’s lips tipped into a small grin. “Nora is distantly related to the Jordanian royal family, but Devil and I are plain, plebian billionaires.”
He chuckled. “Why does it not surprise me that Cyn prefers to fraternize with the common rabble?”
Violetta’s grin turned into a smile. “You should meet her parents. They are what Americans would call a trip. Real estate and financial tycoons by day and hippies fresh off the commune by night. I kid you not.”
