18. Chapter Seventeen
We stop in front of one of the silver garage doors. “What are we doing here again?” Fitz puts the Van in park and opens the driver’s side door. I grab his arm, staring at him as if he is delusional for leaving my side. “Where are you going?’
“I have to open the garage door to get the van inside. I’ll be right back.” His hand roams across my cheek, then his fingers run through my hair. My eyes flutter closed from how good his touch feels. His lips meet mine in an unexpected kiss. When he dares to move away from me, he presses his forehead against mine. “Like I’d ever be able to stay away from you, Wildflower. I have to protect you, though. It’s only a matter of time before the authorities find this van and connect you to a murder. And then add a robbery on top of that.”
“I didn’t rob the bank. I only stole the money they stole.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re the one they will pin the crime on.”
“I’ll kill the cops who try to arrest me then,” I say with a ‘duh’ tone.
He laughs, leaning away from me to grab the handle of the door. “You can’t kill everyone, Holly.”
“Why not? I kill them if they threaten me or you. I would think that’s fair.”
“The way you think is very similar to Creed. I bet you and him will get along.”
“Does he also kill?”
“More than you know,” Fitz grumbles.
“Smart. Nothing can be pinned on me if everyone who comes after me is dead. It makes sense.”
“I know it does.” He pats my leg in defeat. “I’ll bury all the bodies.”
“You’d do that for me?” I light up like Christmas day.
“I’d do anything for you. Including scrubbing the VIN off the van and figuring out how to slap a new license plate on it. I’ll need to do a few other things too. It could use a different paint job. That would throw them off the tracks.”
“Aw, but I like the yellow.”
“I know you do. It has to be done, though. Okay? Unless we just want to sell it for parts and keep it in the back here.”
I gasp in horror. “It’s a classic. You can’t…you can’t do that!” My hand is on my chest. My heart is racing. He can’t be serious. “Please, don’t do that. Change the color but can you keep some of the yellow? Somewhere?”
“I’ll do anything for you if you don’t know that by now.”
My heart melts, wondering how the hell I got so lucky with such an open-minded mate. “Give me your injured arm, Doe Eyes.”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t make me make you. Be a good boy and give it to me.”
His nostrils flare, lust swirling in his light brown eyes. He stretches out his injured arm that he refused to let me heal in the shower. I won’t allow him to be scarred because of me.
I unwrap the blood-stained bandage, hating to see such a deep wound on my mate. Bringing his arm closer to my mouth, I lick the wound, tasting the metallic iron and the spices that make Fitz smell like Fitz.
My saliva heals the cut. The skin meshes together. All that’s left is smooth, freckled skin.
I love those freckles.
He sticks his tongue out at me and a buzz of pleasure shoots down my spine when I see it’s still black.
No other woman would be able to stake her claim like that.
“You look so proud of yourself.” He winks at me, opening the door, and something about that wink with that baseball cap turned backward has me wanting more than a kiss.
“Oh, I am.”
He holds the door, eyeing me up and down before groaning. “You can’t keep doing this to me. And you’re wearing my damn shirt. I’m a goner.”
“I only want to wear your shirts. They smell like you.”
“Then my shirts are all yours. Especially if you don’t wear anything underneath.”
“Why would I do that? I need to be able to fuck you anytime I want.”
He slams the door, lacing his fingers behind his head, stressed. I grin, loving how much I drive him crazy.
Fitz’s back muscles flex under his tight shirt as he lifts the garage door. His biceps bulge, stretching the T-shirt’s sleeves hugging his arms.
Fuck.
My mate is delicious.
Climbing into the car again, he eases the van inside. “Miss me?”
“Even when you’re near me.”
He takes my hand, brings it to his mouth, and kisses my knuckles. “Why don’t you go lie down? I know you’re tired. I can see it. Do you feel okay?”
“I’m exhausted. I don’t know why.”
“There’s a bedroom in the back. I’ll tuck you in and you can nap while I work on the van.”
I yawn, realizing how exhausted I am. I only woke up from my slumber because I sensed Fitz was in trouble. I think it’s a way my body completes the pregnancy. I’m not sure. I’ve never gone through this before.
“Yeah, I’ll take you up on that. Unless you need my help?”
“No way would I ever let these beautiful purple hands get oil on them. That’s my job, Wildflower. Don’t get out of the van,” he warns, stepping out only to walk around the front to open my door.
He stretches out his hand. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
When I stand, I sway, another wave of pure exhaustion hitting me as if I’m drugged.
“Woah, I got you, okay?” He swings me into his arms, carrying me across the floor.
My head nestles on his chest, and I allow my eyes to close. His heartbeat is comforting. I want to live and die in these arms.
As he walks, I smile with confidence because there is still a hint of me marking my territory. I put my ink everywhere. In the oil and grease containers. I’ve swiped it on all the walls, under desks and chairs, the equipment, the bathrooms, and the fence lining their property.
His friends will smell me forever and something about that has me giddy.
The scent isn’t as strong as I’d like it to be but that’s okay. Fitz is mine. As long as he smells like me, it’s fine. I’m happy.
He opens the office door, revealing a long stretch of hallway with bright lighting. There are a few pictures on the wall and I’m able to peek at them as we walk by. A human version of his friend Rhett is in one photo, and I have to say, being a monster suits him better. He has long blonde hair and a big award-winning smile while standing next to Fitz in front of another shop.
There’s a story there that I want to know about.
When we get to the backroom, there’s a couch lining the wall and a full-size bed on the other side. A few boxes are stacked to the side but other than that, it’s clean. It doesn’t smell like Fitz.
Luckily, I have his shirt on so I’ll be able to fall asleep.
He yanks the covers back and lies me down, covering me up and tucking me in just like he said he would.
“Sleep well, Wildflower. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go, okay?” He continues to brush my hair with his fingers.
“Mmhmm,” I hum, already falling asleep when my head hits the pillow.
I barely feel the phantom of his kiss or hear the hinges of the door squeak when Fitz leaves.
The vision I saw of four men confronting my mate returns, leaving me restless and worried. Predictions don’t always have to come to fruition. The future can change. One vision doesn’t determine his death.
I turn to my side more anxious now.
He’ll be okay. I’m here. As long as I’m here, he will be safe. I’m worrying for nothing.
I take a few deep breaths, relaxing in the darkness of the room. They must have blackout curtains in here because I can’t see my fingers, and I’m wiggling them in front of my face.
My eyes finally close and exhaustion takes me under.
I don’t know how long I’m asleep for but a loud gunshot yanks me from my sleep, stealing all the air from my lungs.
Blood is in the air.
And some of it belongs to Fitz.