Page 7 of Broken Highway (Cult Boys #1)

“Let me tell you,” I say as I ease myself from his grip, “nothing gets me rocked like a man who puts me in my place.”

I’m pretty damn sure he’s still watching after I’ve turned my back to him.

Watching my ass, most likely, but watching nonetheless.

Might even put on a little show with a little more bounce in my step than usual.

Give him a taste of what he can’t have and hope he doesn’t peel out of the parking lot as soon as the shower turns on.

I turn the corner at the end of a sterile hallway leading to the bathrooms and showers. Determined to be as quick as humanly possible. Scrub my body of the scents of fire and other men. Just one problem?—

I stop in my tracks.

Lock eyes with one of them.

One of the other men.

The last time we locked eyes, I had a gun aimed at his head. That gun is still holstered at my ankle. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not entirely stupid. Pulling the gun again, in public, won’t serve anyone well. Especially myself.

I make a quick turnabout, hoping somehow he miraculously doesn’t remember who I am. A hope that’s quickly dashed as I hear footsteps behind me. Heavy and quick. I move faster, turning back around the corner and making a beeline for Noah.

I grab him by the shoulder as I pass, not slowing down to explain. “Change of plans.”

“It’s funny, you still smell like a fire and your hair isn’t even wet.” He stands up and follows behind.

I push through the double glass doors at the front of the building, and escape into the night breeze. I hold the door open for Noah too, hold it open long enough to make sure Mr. Trucker can see that I’m with someone. Doesn’t seem to slow him down though.

“We should go.” I open the passenger door and slip into the leather seat.

Noah circles the front of the car in a hurry. Clearly notices my desperation but doesn’t ask any questions. We slam our doors at the same time.

And then he’s studying me. Here comes the questions. “You mind telling me what the fuck that’s about?”

I tap furiously on the dash. “Drive and I promise I’ll explain.”

He turns the key in the ignition. The car roars to life, thunder echoing under the hood. His eyes peel to the right as Mr. Trucker approaches the passenger side with a crowbar in hand.

Locks eyes with the man.

Slaps the shifter backward.

Tires peel against the asphalt, squealing over a barely audible rock track from the radio.

Still not louder than the clank , and the thud, and the screech of the crowbar slamming into the rear panel of the car. Noah slams on the brakes, forcing the car to a sudden stop. Before I can convince him?—

Yeah. No time for that.

He punches open his door and leaps to his feet.

I cock my head to the left, glancing out the rear window to watch the show as Noah collides into the man, leading with his fist. Mr. Trucker stumbles backward and catches another blow to the face.

He lands on his back with a crack. That pervert is no slouch either.

Big and strong, and weighing a hundred pounds more than Noah.

Noah climbs back into the driver’s seat, slams the door, and passes a stern glower in my general direction. “What the fuck was that about?”

“He’s the guy that tried spreading my ass open earlier.” I raise my hands in the air, protesting. “Fully against my will.”

“Say less.” He punches the door open again and climbs back out as fast as he climbed in.

Just as the trucker manages to climb to his feet, he’s sent back onto his ass again with a sharp blow to his chin.

Noah bends at the knees to grab the man by both sides of his shirt, and lifts him to his feet.

He stares into the man’s eyes with a furnace burning behind his own.

I’d hate for him to look at me that way.

Would probably piss myself in fear. Stares a little too long before whispering something I’m unable to hear.

He flashes a sideways grin, as if he’s about to enjoy what he’s about to do.

He lets the man go and turns slightly, prepared to walk away.

But Mr. Trucker whispers something under his breath.

And that’s enough to stop Noah in his tracks.

He turns back to him. Throws another punch that knocks the man sideways.

Before he can recover, Noah lands another blow on the other side of his face.

He stumbles backwards and Noah gives him a helping shove to finish him off.

Noah straddles the man on the ground, his plaid shirt billowing in the wind. He launches a flurry of punches.

Crack.

Thwack.

Crack.

He lifts the man by the collar of his shirt and spits on his bloodied face.

I crank the window down, which is so much slower and less dramatic than pushing a button. Technology has come so far since this car was built. When it’s down enough to stick my head out of, I do just that. “Noah, enough!”

He holds his grip on Mr. Trucker’s collar for a moment longer before letting go.

The man collapses onto the asphalt, his face barely recognizable.

But honestly, he needed an excuse to get that mug fixed.

Does thinking that make me a bad person?

Oh who cares, he tried to stick his dick in my mostly virgin ass.

Noah storms back to the car with an audience of three or four strangers watching, mouths aghast in horror. It’s the first time I’ve noticed them standing there. He scrambles back into the car and shifts into gear. The tires screech as we take a sharp turn back onto the highway.

“Remember what I said about being too fucking loud?” He asks without so much as looking at me. “Why the hell did you stick your head out the window and start loudly screaming my name?”

He’s a little too heated for me to interject. Otherwise, I would explain to him that beating the shit out of some guy in a truck stop parking lot certainly draws more attention than someone screaming his name. Tomato. Tuh-mot-o. Onions. Lettuce. Whatever.

“We’re more alike than you think,” he continues.

“How so?”

And then he shifts his eyes to the side, his glare threatening to pull me inside out. “Because I also don’t want to be found.”