Page 48 of The Vigilante's Lover
BOOK TWO
1: Mia
Jax’s face pulses red with the alarms going off inside his car.
An automated female voice announces, “Ten seconds until security breach.”
I kiss him one more time. This is my only shot at convincing him to keep me. Even if his enemies have us surrounded, I can’t let him forget that.
His lips are unhurried, as if we’re not in the middle of a disaster. The calm car voice starts counting down how long we have until we’re caught.
I break the kiss. Jax stares past me out the windshield. Thinking.
I’m straddling him in the driver’s seat, my skirt hiked up to my waist. I’m a little shocked at my own behavior, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
My neck tingles. But I don’t think about it for long because Jax’s fingers brush my skin there. No wonder I’m feeling so many sensations.
The driver’s door is wide open. I can’t see whatever the car’s security says is coming, but I believe it. The technology in this thing is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
We’ve escaped the Vigilante stronghold only to be caught by them again. I’m pretty sure they’ll be more careful with us the second time.
Jax reaches out and closes the door. Then he presses a button on the dash. The motor roars to life. “You might want to hang on,” he says.
My wet sweater dress clings to me, cold and heavy. I’m not sure what I should hold on to in this position. I shift as if I’m going to switch over to the passenger seat, but then we abruptly shoot forward, and I fall into Jax.
I’m not going to be able to move now. I flatten my cheek against his chest so he can see around me. My arms snake behind him to wrap around his back.
Bushes and small trees crunch beneath our tires. We swerve to the right, then the left, a dizzying zigzag. Jax is a Vigilante, part of a powerful underground network of spies and law enforcement. He is skilled, and his car is powerful, but the people coming for us are just as good.
I bury my face in his wet shirt. We had to jump in a river earlier to escape detection by our heat signatures. Whatever we’re doing, I don’t want to look. The last thing he needs is my silly screams distracting him.
I hear a strange sound and look up to see a panel in the roof sliding open.
“Watch out for the console,” Jax says.
I turn my head toward the inside of the car. Between the two front seats, the padded black leather armrest opens. I pull my elbow in tighter as a silver canister rises up from it.
“It’s going to shoot out,” he says.
The word “Crybaby” is scrawled on the side as if someone has written on it with a marker.
Suddenly the canister rockets up and out the rooftop. Even though I was warned, I have to stifle a yelp of surprise.
Jax’s arms move around me as he steers, powerful and strong. I steal a glance out the side window. The trees are less dense. I don’t see anyone following us, but the red alarm is still going off. Then the car voice says, “Threat retreating.”
We bump onto a regular road and the ride is smoother. My kneesare killing me in this position, but I don’t know if I should move to my seat. The rooftop closes and the console snaps shut.
The red light inside the car stops pulsing. I can feel Jax relax beneath me.
“What was that thing that just shot out of your car?” I ask.
“Long story,” he says.
“I have time.” The more we talk, the more sure I feel that he won’t dump me on the side of the road like he had planned.
“All right. Sam has a thing for that old television showFirefly,” Jax says. “He makes lots of custom modifications to our cars based on things they used in the episodes.”
“I don’t know that show,” I say.
