Page 122 of The Vigilante's Lover
He peers beneath the cover of a shiny blue sports car. I walk around it.
“What is it?”
“A 2017 Acura NSX,” he says. “I had one of these just before I got the Aston Martin. Amazing cars.”
He pulls off the canvas tarp.
“It’s beautiful,” I say. And it is.
Jax opens his knapsack. Out comes a shiny square of cellophane. I remember it from our escape from the silo. He sticks it to the door and presses one of the icons. The door pops open.
“The nice thing about these cars,” he says as the motor rumbles to life. “Keyless ignition, so once I’m in, I’m done.”
He walks around and opens the door for me. “Your chariot.”
I sit in the low-slung seat. The car smells like pine and leather. I know it belongs to someone else, but I can’t help but want to keep it.
Jax folds up the tarp and stashes it behind the seat. His knapsack drops on top of it, but I notice that he keeps it close. I wonder what sort of weapons he’s carrying in there. Might be better not to know. I picture again the guns beneath my aunt’s house and shudder.
But this car is a dream. I run my hand along the center console. A large ball controls all the electronics in the center. “I feel like I’m in anairplane cockpit,” I say.
“You like it.”
“I do.” I can’t keep my hands off the car. The soft red leather. The cool chrome.
Jax reverses out of the spot. “Then we’ll have to get you one.”
I snap my head around. “What?”
“We can pick one up somewhere. Maybe we can get to a city far enough from my identity that we can make the transaction.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say. I pull my hands back from the dash. I can’t even imagine owning something like this.
Jax says nothing more. We navigate back toward the arena.
He pulls around to the back side, where there is a smaller lot. Food vendors and a couple of news vans are parked there, along with a smattering of cars and two stretch limos. A security guy waits by the entrance. Jax pulls up to him and rolls down the window.
The guard steps up and peers in. “You got a permit for this lot?”
“This car is a gift for Growler, one of the fighters,” Jax says smoothly. “I was instructed to leave it in the lot as close to the back door as I could get. I understand his match just ended.”
The guard whistles, stepping back to look at the car. “That’s quite a gift,” he says. But his face is firm. “They should have given you a permit.”
“I understand,” Jax says. He drops the car into reverse. “Of course, I’m not the one who will be upsetting The Cure McClure.”
“This is from The Cure?” The guard looks over the car again. “That explains it. He’s always doing things for those fighter boys.” He points across the lot. “If you go around the side you can park right up near the back door. They’ll come out of the metal one near the loading dock.”
“Much obliged,” Jax says and nods.
He drops the transmission back into drive and we pull through.
When the window is back up, I ask, “So is coming up with spontaneous lies part of your Vigilante training?”
“Some things just come naturally.” Jax rolls to a stop in a spacebetween a Lexus and a snack truck. We have a good view of the back door.
I frown. He’s a natural liar? I wonder how many things he’s said to me that weren’t true.
Jax sees my face and squeezes my arm. “Only in the line of duty, Mia. And it will be called for over and over again. The longer you’re with me, the more you’ll see.”
