Page 95 of Carved Obsession

Both our heads snap to the side when his phone vibrates in his other hand. It’s a rude interruption, and I hate to say it’s a necessary one.

“One text got through. Let’s keep going,” he says as he grabs my hand and guides me on an invisible path he mapped out.

The more ground we cover, the more his phone vibrates. His head isn’t buried in it, though, and his steps aren’t mindless. He makes sure I’m able to keep up, holding branches away from striking me.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

“Everything okay?”

The seconds stretch, and I can’t tell if he’s simmering or genuinely doesn’t know if things are good.

“I think the—”

His phone rings, interrupting him yet again, and I resist the vivid urge to roll my eyes. He apologizes before he picks up, but we carry on walking, regardless.

“It’s a long story. I’ll pin my location to Brendan. Come get us...Yes,us.”

Another pause stretches out.

“Like I said, long story . . . The very same.”

Another pause.

“Crashed.”

Annoyance strains his brows as he listens to whatever is said on the other line.

“Finnigan, you’re wasting my time. Come get us.”

He hangs up, rolling his eyes as his neck cracks in two places.

“You sound like you need a massage,” I say.

“Or a hundred,” he mutters. “Are you offering?”

I smirk, wiggling my brows when he looks at me. “If it gets you naked under me, you bet I am.”

That does it. His brows relax, his eyes soften, and a sinful smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. For a man who doesn’t feel complex emotions, he sure does master all the simple ones.

“Talk like that and we’ll never leave this forest.”

“Look at me like that and I’ll make sure we get lost,” I counter.

He scoffs playfully, shaking his head as he turns the attention back to our path.

The notifications keep coming on Carter’s phone. I can’t tell if something happened while we were off-grid or if this is just his norm.

I wonder what I’ll be met with when I charge mine. It died during the night, and I really want to believe no one noticed I didn’t return from the heist. I’m not quite convinced.

When I split up from dad last night, I told him over the phone that I was going for a bit of a drive. It’s not unusual for us to take different routes after a heist. I didn’t want to worry him, not unless whoever was clearly following us went after him instead of me.

Technically, he has no reason to check up on me and notice I haven’t returned. We may live on the same land, but we give each other plenty of space. I’m holding my fingers crossed that no one has attempted to call me since.

“Something happened?” I ask.

“Not quite.” He keeps his answer too short for this to be a back and forth.

“Is everyone okay?”