Page 33 of Reaper
He runs.
I get in the car, slipping into the passenger’s seat and giving Adriana a confused look. “Can you believe that guy?”
“Are you hard again?”
“It’s the antifreeze.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying. It’s happened to me before.”
“You’ve drunk antifreeze before?”
“Do you even know my life? Yes, I have drunk antifreeze,” I say, lying. At least, I think I’m lying. It wouldn’t totally surprise me to find out I’ve drunk some of the stuff while high off my ass. On more than one occasion, I’ve come out of it with a strange taste in my mouth that I couldn’t figure out.
Adriana goes quiet for a moment as she steers us out of the parking lot and onto the main road. As she makes the right turn, her eyes meet mine, then drift downward to my lap.
“You’re still hard. Is that the antifreeze?”
“Yes.”
“Other than giving monster erections, are there any other negative side effects I should be aware of? I can deal with a hard cock, but I don’t want to die.”
“You can deal with a hard cock? How are you going to deal with it?”
Her eyes leave the road again to flicker to my crotch. I catch her staring, and she blushes. “Shut up and tell me if the antifreeze is going to kill me.”
“It’s not going to kill you. And seeing how you aren’t packing,” I pointedly look down her body to between her legs. “There’s only one way you’ll have a hard cock to deal with.”
“Don’t make me rethink deciding not to kill you.”
“Don’t threaten me with what I want.”
A sign flies past on the road.Sacramento, fifty miles.
“So the only thing we have to worry about killing us isn’t the whiskey-flavored antifreeze, but the Russian bratva boss waiting for us in Sacramento.”
“That’s about right.”
“Any idea of how we’re going to get close enough to kill him?”
“Aren’t you the one with the plan? I thought you had this shit figured out. What happened to the super-smart supercop who brought down gangs with a snap of her fingers?”
“Maybe I don’t have everything figured out.”
“Then maybe I was wrong about you.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. I never took you to be that smart.” Her words hang in the air for a moment, and I let them stay there, while I watch the world through the windshield. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a small smile creep across her face, and beneath her breath, I hear her whisper. “But maybe I can see what Vanessa saw in you…”
I turn back toward the road, trying to focus on anything other than the heat pooling in my gut and the goddamn ache in my jeans.
“You ever think,” I say, “maybe this whole thing’s fucked, but we’re the only two people crazy enough to see it through?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps driving, eyes sharp on the horizon. Then, so quiet I almost miss it, she clears her throat and speaks. “I’d say that’s a pretty accurate situational assessment. Shit’s fucked and we’re deep in it. And the only way out is to go deeper.”
My gaze shifts to her — the way her jaw clenches, the curve of her mouth, the faint smear of blood drying on her cheek like war paint. God help me, I want her. I want to grab the wheel, pull over, and bury myself so deep in her she forgets her own name. But I don’t. I can’t. Not yet, at least.
Instead, I lean back, adjust myself, and grin at her.
