Chapter 7
Kylie slipped the last of her toiletries into her purse, giving her reflection one final look in the smudgy glass over the bathroom sink. The drastic change in her appearance still felt surreal, as if she were looking into a trick mirror that spit back someone else’s image entirely.
Although between the life and death danger she’d endured last night, the impromptu hair hack, and the undeniable post-sex glow lighting up every corner of her face, the concept of Kylie being a totally different person than yesterday really wasn’t much of a stretch.
“You almost ready?”
Devon’s voice was quiet and serious, just as he’d been since they’d woken up from their power nap twenty minutes ago.
Between their pair of fast showers and the couple of protein bars they’d thrown back while packing up the room, she and Devon hadn’t had much of a chance to exchange more conversation than was necessary.
But even though sleeping with him had been impulsive, Kylie had no regrets, and she’d be damned if she’d let him crawl back into that rough, gruff shell of his just because she was his buddy’s little sister and they’d had some really hot, really consensual sex.
Holy mother of God, the sex had been incendiary.
“Yeah. Listen, Devon.” She paused to follow him over the threshold and into the main room, the sight of the rumpled bedsheets sending a bloom of involuntary heat between her legs. “Before we go, I just want to make sure we’re good.”
His shoulders tightened just a fraction beneath the black cotton of his T-shirt, but the look on his face betrayed nothing. “Of course. I’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep you safe.”
“I know,” Kylie said, her answer both automatic and truthful. “That’s not what I mean, though. I want to make sure we’re good. Me and you.”
For a minute, then two, Devon stood completely quiet in front of her. But then he surprised the hell out of her with, “I owe your brother a lot, Kylie. I wanted this”—he broke off to meet her stare, gesturing between them with one hand—“I want it still. But there’s more to it than me and you.”
“No, there isn’t.” Kylie’s heart squeezed, but she closed the space between them with certainty. “Right now, this is only me and you.”
He opened his mouth—to argue, if his hard-edged expression was any indication—but she cupped her hands around his face, cutting him off before he could start.
“Look, I don’t have a crystal ball. I don’t know what will happen between us, and I get that you and Kellan are tight. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want this in the here and now. So, what do you say we just keep moving across the country and take things as they come without feeling guilty?”
After a beat, one corner of Devon’s mouth lifted into a half-smile. “You get what you want a lot, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Kylie answered without a trace of apology.
“Guess arguing with you would be kind of pointless, then,” Devon said, pressing his forehead against hers for a brief second before lowering his lips for an equally quick kiss.
“Mmm hmm.” Her belly squeezed with warmth and goodness and about forty other things as she kissed him back. But they had enough to worry about with Fagan just waiting for his chance to pounce. Complicating things between them? Yeah, that just seemed stupid.
“Now, why don’t you finish getting your stuff packed up while I grab a couple of waters from the vending machine?” Kylie asked. “Then we can get back on the road and take a dent out of some of this trip.”
“We’ll hit the vending machine together on the way out,” Devon challenged, but Kylie had already grabbed a couple of dollar bills from her purse.
“It’s literally ten feet from our front door. Plus, faster is better, remember?”
“Fast might be good, but safe is better.” Devon took a nasty-looking knife out of the nightstand drawer, tucking it into the side pocket of his duffel as easily as if the thing were a butter knife going into a drawer. “I don’t want you out of my sight.”
A soft laugh pushed past Kylie’s lips. “Everything worked out just fine when we did divide and conquer at the convenience store earlier.”
“That was a mistake.” His knuckles turned white over the nylon strap in his grasp, his spine unfolding into a rigid line. “I should never have let it happen. I won’t fuck up like that again.”
Kylie had closed the space between them before she even registered her brain’s command to move. “Hey. We were barely separated in that mini-mart, and technically, you could see me the whole time. Plus, the whole thing went without a hitch. You’re being a little hard on yourself, don’t you think?”
“I think I’m not hard on myself nearly enough.”
“What happened to you on your last tour in Afghanistan, Devon?”
Her cheeks burned at the brash question that had flown from her mouth, but there was no sense trying to take it back.
What’s more, she didn’t want to. He hadn’t exactly been a chatty guy when she’d met him five years ago, sure, but the titanium intensity and all of these scalpel-sharp edges were definitely new acquisitions.
Whatever had gone down out there in the desert had changed him. Not a little.
Devon opened his mouth, and for a second, Kylie thought he’d actually answer. But then the flash of emotion disappeared from his amber stare, and all at once, he was as unreadable as ancient Greek.
“Nothing. Look”—he shifted back to run a hand over his crew cut—“Fagan’s dangerous as hell, and the thought of him trying to hurt you makes me want to kick the shit out of something.
So, until his ass is in a maximum security lockup where it belongs, you’re going to have to get used to being stuck with me, okay? ”
“Okay.”
“What?” Devon’s brows climbed in undisguised shock, but Kylie was done fighting the reality of her situation.
Xavier Fagan wanted her dead, and despite Devon’s fierce demeanor and arm’s length attitude, she trusted him one hundred percent to keep that from happening.
“If going together is the safest plan, then that’s what we’ll do,” she said.
Taking a step back, she gave him enough space to finish getting his things into the duffel bag, not even flinching as he slid his gun into the holster beneath his arm.
Devon opened the curtains, scanning the mostly empty parking lot with care before moving to open the door.
“Come on,” he said, his voice as soft as the rest of him was tough. “Let’s get you closer to that spaghetti dinner.”
“Now that sounds like a plan.” Kylie pressed her smile between her lips, squaring her shoulders beneath her white cotton tank top.
Popping her aviator sunglasses over her face, she followed Devon’s lead to the vending machine, relieved to see that her sly glances around the parking lot revealed nothing suspicious.
She took the two bottles of water he passed in her direction, turning to make her way to the car so they could get the hell out of Dodge…
And ran smack into the motel manager.
“Oh!” Kylie exclaimed, her pulse going from zero to six thousand as she dropped one of the water bottles to the dingy pavement in surprise. The guy was stealthy as hell for someone who stank so badly, and she let out an involuntary cough at the lungful of smoke he’d just exhaled into her air space.
“Sorry about that. I was just getting a drink on my smoke break. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
He offered up a crooked, yellow-tinged smile, and God, could she be any jumpier?
“Oh, no. It was my fault.” She retrieved the bottle at her feet, tucking it into her purse along with the one she’d managed to hold on to.
“Aw, you’re not in a hurry to leave us, are you?” the manager asked, his glance taking an obvious slide over the duffel on Devon’s shoulder along with the keys in his hand. “You just got here a coupl’a hours ago. It’s not even dinnertime yet.”
“We’re passing through,” Devon said, clipping his tone close enough to the quick that the manager held up both hands in concession.
“Okay, no need to get uppity. Just thought maybe you and Kylie might want to stay and relax a little while longer.”
Every last hair on the back of Kylie’s neck stood at attention all at once. “How do you know my name?”
“Oh.” The manager’s smile slipped. “Uh, your boyfriend here must have said it when you two were checking in.”
In less than a blink, Devon swung the man around, pinning him to the vending machine with a graceless thunk.
“No. I didn’t. Try again.”
The manager sputtered, his bloodshot eyes bulging. “Guess she just looks like a Kylie. Must be that pretty face.”
“Don’t insult me, or I’ll get pissed off.” Devon pressed a thick forearm over the man’s windpipe, and oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, Kylie wanted to get out of here, like yesterday.
“Okay. Okay!” the manager choked, his wild-eyed stare flattening on her over the hard angle of Devon’s shoulder. “Fagan’s coming for her, and he wants blood. There’s nothing you can do. His network is huge, and he’s got everyone within five hundred miles looking—”
“When?” Devon leaned harder, his body language an unspoken embodiment of don’t fuck with me.
The manager’s lips peeled back in a thin grimace. “Now.”
Devon dropped the man into a heap on the sidewalk. “Kylie, get in the car. Go.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. She ran to the Challenger, flinging the passenger door open hard enough to make the hinges squeak. Throwing herself inside, she slammed the door in her wake, her breath coming in such rapid bursts that she was certain she’d either pass out or throw up.
Devon shoved his duffel in the back seat and punched the ignition button, sweeping the parking lot with a cold, glittering stare. “Get down as far as you can,” he said, the words barely reaching Kylie’s ears past the roar of the engine as he pulled out of the parking lot.
“Do you see anything?” she asked, unable to just sit there, quiet and helpless.
“Not yet, but that doesn’t mean nothing’s there.” He maneuvered the car through a turn, although toward what, Kylie had no clue.