Chapter 11 #2
Lifting my chin, I swat at the grains clinging to my pants. “I’m thankful they didn’t get any piercing shots off. That could have made things a lot worse,” I say, my cheeks flushing with humiliation at my uncontrolled voice cracks.
I gasp when Lowell grips me by my waist to throw me onto the seat of the sandcycle, a laugh caught in his throat at my expression. “Yeah, you should be thankful, because otherwise, no one would have been there to save your ass.”
Blushing deeper, the corners of my mouth dip into a frown. “Well, if I didn’t shoot the only bandit who had piercing shots,” I point a finger at him, “from my hip, mind you, you would currently have many holes in your chest.”
Lowell rolls his eyes, blotting blood off his chest with a spare kerchief from the sandcycle side bag. “Ah, my hero. Protecting me from a single bullet,” he says with heavy sarcasm.
I puff out my cheeks in a pout, not dignifying this asshole with a response.
He sighs in resignation, his shitty grin back in its usual place. “I’ve never seen anyone hit a moving target from such a distance before.”
“While it’s not the accolade I’m looking for, I’ll take it, for now,” I grumble, maintaining my frown.
With a smirk, Lowell grabs my chin between his thumb and index finger, turning my head back and forth inspecting me.
Using the clean side of the kerchief, he blots the cut on my cheek.
“Now you’ve got another cut, but this one’s underneath mine.
You collecting them now? Like a true outlaw? ” he jests.
My tongue touches the roof of my mouth at the way he emphasizes “mine.”
I cough, swatting him away to turn my focus towards the open pass. “Yeah, right. As if they’re deep enough—” my words stutter. “What was in those weird glass globes, anyway?” I deflect, refusing to meet Lowell’s overbearing stare.
His eyes remain on me, curious. “Probably a bunch of chemicals shoved into a container. Escaped city criminals are fucking idiots.”
Ignoring the gore that litters the ground around me, I hop off the sandcycle and trot over to where the intact flasks lie. Lowell doesn’t follow me. Instead, he grunts his disapproval. I can almost hear his agitated expression.
The same brown liquid I saw before sloshes around inside the globes, but up-close, the color appears iridescent across the surface.
I pop the cork off, dribbling a small amount to the ground.
The liquid hisses and pops as it disappears into the sand, a small cloud of decaying stench wafting up and into my nostrils.
“You done?” Lowell shouts, impatiently leaning against the handlebars.
Not a single marker or indication of the contents is listed on the flask. Inspecting it further, I spot scratches obscuring where a manufacturer’s stamp was pressed into the glass.
“Yeah…” I finally reply, holding the flask up and pointing to it. “Can we bring this with us? I want to see its properties beneath a microscope.”
“Hell no. Get on the damn cycle, May. We’re burning daylight,” he snaps.
I place the cork back onto the bottle and a drop spills out and onto my boot. The caustic substance sizzles, but to my surprise, no damage is done. Only a light ring of white remains as the substance evaporates into the air with a puff of smoke.
My forehead wrinkles with intrigue.
“May! Let’s go!” Lowell shouts so loudly that I jump.
I spin around, marching back to the sandcycle with my arms crossed. “You don’t have to rush me, you know.”
As I walk, I look over my shoulder, noting the absence of a body at the top of the scaffolding. My first shot was most definitely fatal, but I’d prefer the proof of a corpse. I shrug the feeling off and return to the sandcycle.
Lowell helps me into my seat again even though I don’t need it, his hands firmly on my sides. “We wasted more time than I planned for and it’s already getting dark. I don’t have time to entertain your weird interest in sludge.”
The “sludge” in question still plagues my mind, the seemingly corrosive material doing everything but corrode a more than susceptible leather boot. Then again, even with infinite time, I may never be able to extrapolate every component dumped together in a chemical soup made by idiotic criminals.
“I don’t get why you’re complaining. I’m ready to go, aren’t I?” I huff, leaning back to give him some space.
With unbounded bravado, Lowell mounts the sandcycle by throwing himself into the seat. His movements are careless, whipping me in the face with his tail.
I recoil. “Ow! What the hell?!” I shout, placing my hand over the sensitive area. “You could have reopened the cut!” I run my fingers over the forming scab, relieved that it has not been disturbed.
Lowell turns his head over his shoulder, a sharp-toothed grin on his mouth. “It’s my cut, I can do what I want with it. Besides, you’d look cuter with more scars, so call it a blessing.”
My eyes widen, words stuck in my throat. My heart begins to beat at an erratic pace, filling my head with all kinds of unwanted erotic images.
Not this again, I think, shooting my gaze down to the base of his tail.
It’s an unfortunate fact that my chest flutters whenever Lowell uses a term of endearment, and even more unfortunate that whenever we ride the sandcycle, the motor vibrations mixed with the friction from his tail turn me on.
Lowell’s strength, ruthlessness, and inability to doubt himself make him an unstoppable monster that not even multiple criminals could lay a scratch on.
And although he’s a monster, he’s a monster I can’t help but burn for.
The inability to suppress these confusing, overwhelming emotions makes me angry.
I’ve never had feelings like these run amok before. I’ve always been in control.
Lowell starts the engine, revving it a few times before lifting the kickstand. “You ready? Let’s go find that Giant.”