Chapter 32
Chapter
Thirty-Two
“Stay close,” Warwick sniped, his foul mood infusing the weight of the shadows as he headed out the back of the alley.
The night-kissed air colored the path in dusk, the sun’s exit painting the alley in various dark blues and purples.
His surly temper had not ebbed since finding me on the street. If anything, it had only gotten worse.
After another goodbye to Rosie, the madam of the house watched us, expressionless, from her doorway as we departed the protected walls of Kitty’s.
She neither looked relieved nor sad by our departure, making me even more curious about what Warwick’s connection was to her.
I didn’t sense any sexual vibes between them, but at the same time, there was something between them, something that had made her willing to hide the two most wanted criminals in Budapest. Especially since money was awarded for our capture.
“Where are we going?” I demanded again, gathering in close to his tall form and using him to shield me from the people stuffing the lane, melting us into the sea of activity.
Smells, music, and sexy costumes with feathers and colors brushed around me, women whispering enchanting words in my ear.
Glamour tickled my skin, taunting me to try their goods.
Half-naked women and men with wings, animal ears, and glowing eyes dangled from the swings and hoops attached to the overhangs.
A man blew fire from his mouth into the air as a stunning woman twisted the fire into forms that seemed to come to life.
Her features were split down the middle, dark hair on one side, blonde on the other, her eyes two different colors, which was even a rarity in the fae world.
The circus environment was set to tempt and seduce people to open their wallets in their establishment.
Wearing similar clothes to many others, dark and hooded, we slipped through the spectacle. I constantly gazed behind us, while Warwick kept his eyes ahead. His sudden need to leave, not even waiting for the middle of the night, had me asking over and over where we were going.
“They’ll expect us to move at night, have more eyes out looking,” he had said when we were moving into the street. “Twilight tricks the eyes, the world between day and night, shadows and light.”
With nothing but the clothes on our backs, which weren’t even ours, he took us through the backs of buildings, coming out on a side street and going directly to a motorcycle tucked into a side alley.
“Hop on.” He motioned to our newly acquired bike, suggesting what he might have been up to after he disappeared earlier. I peered up at him, his gaze not meeting mine, aggravation twitching his limbs.
A flutter of doubt wrinkled my forehead, but I shoved it back. I didn’t have much choice. Warwick and I were in this together for the time being. Both of us were wanted and on the run.
My list of friends was almost nonexistent in my life: Caden and maybe Hanna.
My willingness to trust people and let them in was something I always struggled with.
Warwick saved my life. Got me out of Halalház. Protected me. And yet, I still didn’t trust him. But going with him now was my only choice.
My hesitation drew his attention to me, his eyes finding mine.
I’m trusting you. My lids narrowed on him. His head dipped like he understood me perfectly.
His Adam’s apple bobbed, his jaw grinding together. Then he spun around, settling on the bike, and kick-started the engine to life.
Rolling my shoulders back, I swung my leg over the back, wrapping my arms around him as it lurched forward down the lane.
I clung to his back, the warmth and firmness claiming me and making my heart jump like it was on a trampoline.
Speeding away from the area, the indigo of evening gobbled up all the light, curtaining us in this private world where I actually felt safe and free as the wind blew my hair back, skating over my face.
He kept to side streets, the buildings growing even more dilapidated and covered in graffiti the farther we went.
We passed several huge factories, smoke chugging out of chimneys at the top.
Both the fae and humans had factories in the neutral zone, the products needed to export and keep this city afloat were all made here. Maja’s kids worked in one of these.
Bang!
My thoughts vanished at the sound of gunfire, jerking my head as four men riding horses came galloping out of an alley, as if they had been hiding there in wait, their guns pointed at us.
“Shit!” Warwick hissed, racing faster and weaving the bike in a curved line.
A bullet whizzed by my head. The shot meant to kill. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the figures race toward us, the horses keeping up with the bike better than I thought. The men’s hoots and hollers echoed over the roar of the motorcycle.
“Who are they?”
“The Hounds,” Warwick yelled back. “A gang of thieves who would kill their own mothers for money.”
They were dressed in black clothes and black cowboy hats with guns and knives hooked on their belts or aimed at us.
“Are they fae?”
“Doesn’t matter here. There are no sides. When you are struggling for food, what species you are doesn’t matter. Especially because so many here are mixed. A bunch of people who have nothing to lose and no morals left,” he responded, his hands clutching the handles. “Hold on.”
The warning was all I had before he turned sharply, tearing down a road, his shoulders tense, the alley snug with people and carts.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Gunshots tore down the lane, clipping the back of the bike.
Screams broke out from pedestrians, causing them to scatter like confused squirrels.
“Get out of the way!” I screamed, but no one listened. Warwick skillfully wove through the chaos, but the people in our path forced him to swerve down another smaller alley, the walls almost grating the handlebars.
His shoulders tightened, but he punched the bike faster.
Shouts hurled down the corridor after us. Peering behind, I saw the lead horseman galloping toward us, the alley making us a perfect target—like a bowling lane with no gutter. His arm was raised, the gun glinting off lights from the building above us.
“Warwick.” The warning ground from between my teeth as the sound of a gun popped off behind us.
Warwick’s arm darted back, yanking my body around his torso, and ducking me down right as a bullet struck his shoulder blade. Right where I had been.
Holy shit. That would have been my head.
His fingers dug harder into my skin, a tiny grunt huffing his chest, but it was his only response to the shot burrowing into his flesh. He tore the motorcycle out of the alley, skidding back onto a main street, the large road giving the bike freedom to hit top speed.
Glancing back, the gang struggled to catch up, disappearing gradually into the darkness.
I exhaled with relief, the tension in my stomach ebbing. Twisting back, I noticed blood dripping down Warwick’s arm onto my knee, the new wound not far from the one he’d gotten the night of our escape.
Rolling and wadding up his shirt, I tried to slow the bleeding, my hands saying the thank you my mouth couldn’t seem to find.
He had taken a bullet for me. Once again protected me.
The infamous and feared Warwick Farkas, the man who killed without thought or conscience, appeared to have one after all.
At least for me. The guy who could so easily snap a man’s neck in prison, but gently cleaned and attended my wounds.
Who shared a bed with me, but did not take what I did not offer.
Shared food and drink. Spilled memories and secrets.
If it was the adrenaline or gratitude for him saving my life, I didn’t care. I felt the feeble wall I had kept up against him bend. My opinions on him sharpened with chaotic emotion.
As if he felt every confused emotion, sensed every messy thought, his chest expanded, his spine stiffening. It didn’t stop me. I flattened my palm against his taut back, my hands caressing his glorious body, even as his muscles tensed under my fingertips.
With one hand, I kept pressure on the laceration, while the other explored, drinking in the heat and firmness, curving around his sides.
A strange ache started throbbing in my shoulder blade, as if I had been shot too, but I shoved the sensation away, concentrating on him.
He sucked in, his eyes darting to my hand, then back to the road. Not encouraging, but not discouraging either. My touch moved under his layer of clothing, electricity snapping at my chest as my fingers touched his skin. He went rigid, his breath hitching.
“Kovacs.” I heard my name. A threat. A warning. A question.
My hands moved farther over his ripped abs. Fuck, he felt good. Like I was drunk and clearheaded at the same time, dreamy and sharp. I stopped thinking . . . only feeling, everything around me disappearing.
“Brexley . . .” He curved his head to me, breathing shallowly. Hearing my name on his lips, the way he drew my name through gravel, husky and deep, shredded every fiber of my will.
My gaze met his. I had no idea what he saw in my eyes, but his head snapped around. Every moment the tension between us thickened to painful levels. The desire I’d shoved away now broke free, spilling everywhere, and I couldn’t seem to wrap it back up.
“Fuck,” I heard him snarl, the bike coming to a skidding stop. He stayed facing forward, boots on the ground, his grip tight on the handlebars. I watched his shoulders rise and lower with his heavy breaths, more blood soaking into his cotton jacket.
“You saved my life again,” I whispered, my hands once again moving up his spine, pushing up the fabric.
He made a gurgling sound in his throat. “What would be the point in saving you if I let you die now?”