Page 43 of Corpse Roads

Harlow stares at her feet. “Apparently.”

“Sure you haven’t done this before?”

“At this point? I don’t know.”

I plaster on a neutral expression to conceal my worry. The disturbing gaps in her memory are on the long list of issues we need to discuss now that she’s awake.

Rifling in the cupboard under the stairs, I come up with a worn denim jacket that should fit over her hoodie. It smells like Leighton—the bitter tinge of cigarettes with a citrus undertone.

“Put this on, it’s cold out.”

Harlow accepts the jacket and slides one arm in, folding the other over her cast. “Thanks.”

“That looks good on you!” a smug voice calls out.

Bounding down the staircase like an excited puppy, Leighton is dressed in faded blue jeans and an old band t-shirt, his shaggy hair still wet from the shower. He’s an unashamed Aerosmith fan, courtesy of his obsession with nineties movies. He’s made us watch Armageddon at least ten times.

The motherfucker must have overheard us talking in the den. He shoots me a bright grin, then offers Harlow a hand up before I can.

“Mind if I tag along?”

She looks uncertain. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because your voice is heavenly, kitten.”

I choke on a barked laugh. Fuck me gently. Even Harlow cracks a smile. Rolling with the punches, Leighton mock-sighs as he steers her outside into the rain.

Kicking him out of the shotgun seat so Harlow can ride up front, I boost her into the SUV. The feel of her hips in my palms nearly breaks my resolve. I can’t seem to keep my hands off her.

I have to grit my teeth as I slam her door and head for the driver’s seat. Leighton has slipped into the back, his feet propped up as he scrolls on his phone with a half smile.

“Alright, rules.” I pin him with a stare. “No funny business. Harlow shouldn’t even be leaving the house. Don’t make me regret letting you come along.”

“What do you take me for?” He frowns.

“I mean it, Leigh.”

“Yeah, I got it. Loud and clear. So, what are we doing?”

Stopping for a retinal scan to unlock the gate, I take a right towards the main road out of London. “Harlow needs some stuff.”

“I don’t,” she replies shortly.

“You do. Don’t argue with me, Harlow.”

Lips pursed, she looks out of the window. “Someone’s got to.”

Leighton smirks at me. “Hah. Is this your first lovers’ quarrel? That’s cute. We should commemorate the occasion.”

“Shut the fuck up before I leave you on the side of the road.”

We head through the rainy suburbs, merging into the morning traffic. The city is the last place we should take Harlow. Anonymous or not, her safety is paramount.

“What kind of stuff are we getting?” Leighton breaks the silence.

“She has nothing.”

“At all? How is that possible?”

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