Chapter Thirty #2
The driver’s seat stopped, having reached as far as it could go. Grayson stretched out his legs and nodded at the passenger
seat. “Shotgun’s free.”
“It’s cute you think you’re driving.” Reece dropped into his lap, and oh, their size difference opened up even more fun possibilities
out of the sleeping bag.
This was going to be a problem.
“It’s my truck,” Grayson said, trying futilely not to get distracted by their closeness, especially as Reece’s arms snaked around
his shoulders. “Of course I’m driving—”
“You don’t even know where we are.” Their faces were close enough he could feel Reece’s breath on his lips. “We still have
to make it the rest of the way down the mountain. Off-roading through snow until we find some real roads—with half the roads
closed for the weather, I should note. And we have to do it all on the spare tire.”
Grayson’s tongue darted out and wet his lips. “It really shouldn’t be hot when you bust my ass about cars.”
“What was it you said to me once? There’s no accounting for taste?” Reece’s gaze had gone to Grayson’s mouth. “Look at us.
Touching,” he said softly, gliding his fingers along the back of Grayson’s neck and sending shivers over his skin. “It’s a fucking tragedy we have to get going.”
“You’re the one who got in my lap,” Grayson said, even as his hands slipped around Reece’s waist to the small of his back.
“And somehow you still keep getting closer and closer.”
“Not my fault it’s such a tight fit between you and the steering wheel.”
Grayson slipped his hands lower, pulling Reece even closer. “You do not get to talk about tight fits when you’re literally sitting on my dick.”
Reece groaned. “We’re never getting out of here if you keep giving me ideas,” he said, and leaned in for a kiss, soft lips
and skilled tongue, way too good.
Too soon, Reece pulled back, and their eyes met, those black pupils normal-sized at the moment, ringed by bands of deep autumn-brown.
Thick, dark hair lay in tousled waves on his forehead, and there was a flush to Reece’s cheeks and lips, maybe from the cold,
maybe from the kiss.
“Your eyes seem different.” Reece was studying him. “Are all the drugs out of your system?”
Grayson would’ve said yes, but in fairness, he was feeling a little hazy. “Probably?”
Reece’s eyes narrowed. “I should have had Nichols boil himself alive,” he said lightly.
Because Reece was a corrupted empath. No longer a violence-averse pacifist squeamish about others’ pain, but a paranormal
killer with his own streak of sadism.
The exact kind of empath the Dead Man should take to Stone Solutions.
“We better get on the road.” Reece still seemed to be intently examining his face. “As you said, there has to be a response
team on its way, and we need to get you out of here before they arrive.”
And for a moment, Grayson forgot about corruption, forgot about the Dead Man and thralls and Stone Solutions.
All he could see was the empath he could have lost to frostbite because Reece had braved a mountain storm and an army of guards to rescue him.
The same empath who’d once been willing to trade his own freedom for Grayson’s life, who’d made an unthinkable sacrifice to make sure Grayson was safe.
Who was still looking out for him even now.
And suddenly Grayson was the one to kiss him, raw and with no finesse, his body taking control like it was trying to say something
his heart was no longer capable of feeling.
Reece made a soft noise, surprise and pleasure, fingers tightening where they intertwined in Grayson’s hair. And in that kiss,
something moved in his chest, like a curtain lifted by the breeze—
Grayson yanked backwards, out of the kiss. He stared at Reece for a moment, his heart pounding.
Reece was looking into his eyes, brows furrowed. “Are you all right?”
Grayson took a breath through his nose. Was he all right?
But yes, of course he was. His body had been under significant stress and his equilibrium was still a mess; was arrhythmia
really that surprising? Whatever that moment had been had passed anyway, like a candle snuffed out by the wind.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Or I will be, eventually.”
“Hmm.” Reece brushed fingers up Grayson’s neck, ruffling the short hairs on the back of his head. “You know you don’t actually
have to go back to Seattle and Stone Solutions, don’t you? I could take you to your own safe house, or anywhere you wanted.
You don’t have to be an empath hunter; you could just be Evan Grayson again.”
Grayson met his eyes. “We both know that’s not true,” he said quietly. “I’ll always be the Dead Man. And I can’t ever care about that one way or the other.”
Reece opened his mouth, like he was going to say something. But then he leaned in instead, and brought their lips together.
Grayson’s eyes closed, but almost immediately Reece was pulling back again. “We have to go,” he said, shifting off Grayson’s
lap, to the step. “And Dead Man or not, I’m the one who knows where we are, where we need to go now, and wasn’t drugged with
who knows what last night. I’m driving.”
Even Grayson had to admit that Reece was the better choice in this situation. He maneuvered out of the driver’s seat and went
around to the passenger side of the truck.
As he put his hand on the handle of the passenger door, his gaze swept out past the trees. Now that the sun was out, he could
take in the miles around them, his vision filled with snow-dusted evergreens and blue mountains with tops lost to the white
clouds that stretched across the mercury sky.
He hesitated for a moment, his hand on the door handle, his eyes on the view.
Then he opened the truck door and climbed in without further thought.
Charles Stone was in his preferred recliner in the back of the Maybach, frowning at his text messages, when his phone began
to ring. The caller ID identified Emily Lowe, Stone Solutions’ director of response operations.
On the other side of the privacy glass, the driver, Mr. Huang, was drumming fingers on the steering wheel as they waited for