Page 54 of Snag
As expected.
Not bothering to argue my point, since getting back to the estate to check on Precious and waiting for the next Bellamy sighting is where I should be focused, I start toward Rought’s truck.
“We would all benefit from a conversation,” Wilson says. Her hands are no longer folded in front of her, but she hasn’t pulled her wand yet. Her gaze flicks between me and the two Outcast shifters. “All of us.”
“Is that a threat?” Cay asks, almost jovially. “Because I’d love a reason to kick your ass over the border.”
“You don’t have that kind of authorization, bitch.” Shaw’s already ruddy cheeks flush. “Just because you occasionally ride Guerra’s dick doesn’t mean —”
“That’s not a thing,” Cay says quickly, glancing at me.
“None of my business,” I say steadily, though I’m not sure which Guerra is being referred to. Reck, most likely, since Shaw is his agent.
Wilson throws Shaw a quelling look. Her gaze is still cold, deadened, but apparently she’s not so willing to ignore what little bit of policy the Authority actually follows. Specifically, that its agents can’t operate in claimed territory — in this case, Outcast territory — without oversight by the local powers.
Cay might not be patched into the Club, but Doc Z is.
It’s an easy guess that the agents are using Reck’s familial connections to the Outcast as a loophole and following his orders to surveil me.
“Ms. Gage.” Wilson tries again as I reach for the driver’s-side door handle of the truck.
Energy shifts around me. I pause, just for a moment, to look around the parking lot.
Strands of life force are suddenly woven all around me, threading through and around Cay and Doc Z, then to a lesser degree around Wilson and Shaw.
I focus on the Authority agents.
They instantly scramble back from me, reaching for weapons. Their lines of fate are blunted. Sickly, even. And short —
Cay steps in front of me, yanking the truck door open, then practically picking me up and tossing me into the cab. She climbs into the truck after me, forcing me farther overon the seat and wedging me against Doc Z, who has somehow already entered on the passenger side.
Shifters just move that fast, especially while I’m distracted.
I blink a few times, trying to clear my sight, but the lines of Cay’s and Doc Z’s life force are abundant, distractingly filling the cab of the truck.
“Don’t test me, assholes,” Cay snarls out the door right before she slams it shut and presses the start button. The keys must be somewhere in the console.
Wilson has her phone to her ear. Her deadened gaze is riveted to us as Cay hits the accelerator and peels out of the parking lot.
Doc Z throws her arm across my chest. “Slow the fuck down, Cay!”
“I’m ready to tear their throats out,” Cay seethes, clenching the steering wheel as she speeds up the main road away from the motel. “Would you prefer that?”
“That would be … messy,” Doc Z says cautiously, lowering her arm. Her gaze is fixed to the side-view mirror.
“Exactly!” Cay snaps.
Silence falls in the cab. I should probably be angry at being moved without permission, but I’m still a little discombobulated.
Plus, I’m used to being suddenly moved, to a certain extent. Though usually it’s the universe doing the moving. The energy roiling off Cay gradually quiets. Doc Z is as steady as ever, though she shifts her attention from the side mirror to the back window.
I blink away the last of the steadily fading threads twined around us. I experienced a similar visual overlay, for lack of a better way to put it, when walking throughCannon Beach with Grinder. I’m not certain that it means anything at all. Other than how much I need a good nap.
“So we aren’t picking up dinner?” I ask.
“Fuck!” Cay shouts.
“We’ll get it delivered,” Doc Z says mildly.
