Page 22 of Delta

But I'm up against an immovable force. I've no real choice. There's always a choice, people say. But people who say that are usually not the ones making the choice, are they? Nah, they're not. Sometimes, there really isn't a choice.

Case in point—this shit situation. Or, shit-uation, as it were. I've got to get this girl to Lyon, ASAP. If I don't, my world is over. I don't want to hand her over to him. I know what he's like. I know what happens to girls who end up in his clutches.

But there’s just no fucking choice.

I could crack her across the noggin, but you're likely as not to scramble someone's brains doing that. It ain't as easy as they make it seem on the telly to give someone a whack just hard enough to knock 'em out but not so hard they end up a drooling cucumber. I don't have any sleepy drugs, and while I could get them and put her to sleep, I ain't a fucking chemist. Give her too much…drooling cucumber, or dead. Too little and she wakes up confused and panicky, and then I’ve got to subdue her or calm her somehow, and knowing my luck, she'd wake up while I’m doing 130 km/h on the motorway. And all in all, while I'm aware of the gruesome, horrible fate that awaits her after I turn her over to Satan's favorite minion, I'm not eager to traumatize her any more than I have to along the way.

Especially this girl.

Have I mentioned how fucking gorgeous she is?

The fucking hair, Jesus. A massive explosion of perfectly spiraled black curls, the kind I'm itching to dig my fingers into while she wraps those pretty, plump pink lips around my cock. I can almost feel it. And her eyes? To say they're brown is to lack imagination. They're not just brown, they're…dark chocolate, the 85% cacao kind that's got a hint of bitter to balance out the sweet. They're the color of rich dark soil in the summer sun. They're infinite pools, mesmerizing and hypnotic. Dangerous.

Right now, those not-just-brown eyes are searching me as if hoping to unearth my secrets. Which is when I realize I’m still holding her hand. And what a hand it is—tiny, soft, clever, quick. Her skin is magnificent. The exact shade of the kind of hot cocoa that comes out of those cheapo tins at the corner Tesco. I suppose that’s not a sexy description, but it's accurate, and I happen to love that shit with an unhealthy zeal. Put this girl in a mug and I’ll drink her all up.

I may just anyway.

I tuck my trusty old Browning Hi-Power back in my waistband and keep hold of her hand. Pull her into a walk. "Come on, then, love. Best get scarce, unless you feel like explaining them dead fucks to the Berlin police.”

“Oh, no, nope. I'm good." She trots to catch up and then manages to match my stride without effort. "So your name is Rush?"

I wink at her. “That's me, yeah."

"Well, Rush, thank you for…" she waves at the bodies now well behind us. "That."

"Didn't seem like they wanted to have a pillow fight, and I don't think much of that sorta business."

She glowers. "No, they didn't want to have a pillow fight."

I look her over—skimpy little silver skirt clinging to her tight little ass, bare midriff, and swishy little rainbowy top cupping what seem to be a magnificent pair of tits. Over that, a man's suit jacket. On her feet, those furry boots girls like to wear, but they seem a bit too small.

"Interesting fashion choices,” I note.

If looks were blades, I'd be carved up into pieces about now, the way she's glaring at me. "Yeah, well, when you get kidnapped out of a fucking nightclub, drugged, and hauled halfway across goddamned Europe, you do what you gotta fuckin do, okay?"

Fuck, I hate this.

"So, I feel like maybe you skipped a detail or two in that telling,” I say.

"What, you want the graphic audio version?"

"The what now?"

"Graphic audio? Audiobooks, but instead of an actor narrating the text, it's actors and sound effects and everything. Like a movie, but audio only."

I give her a puzzled look. “That's a thing, is it?"

"Uh, yeah."

I narrow my eyes at her sarcastic tone. "Hey now, no reason to be sarcastic about it. For one, sarcasm is my thing. And for two, I ain't exactly had a lot of opportunity in my life to go around listening to books on tape."

"Books on tape," she echoes. “Don’t you have a smartphone?"

"Yeah?"

"Let me see."

Ha, right. So you can call your parents or whatever? Not bloody likely.