Page 25 of Delta

"The turd-suckers who snatched me and the other girl."

“Turd-suckers. You've got a way with words, you have." We hit street level, and I guide her away from the intersection. I've no clue where we are, but it doesn't matter. This is just to keep her off-balance. And also, I'm genuinely trying to lose her pursuers. You'd think he'd lay off now he's got me on the situation, but I guess he doesn’t trust me all the way. Smart man—I'd double-cross him in half a heartbeat. We pass a small breakfast cafe; an older couple exits just then, and the scent of hash browns and pancakes wafts out with them.

Bryn's stomach snarls noisily.

I laugh. "Hungry, hey?" I press her toward the door. "Come on. Let's get some food."

"Thank fuck. I'm starved."

5

5: THAT STUPID FUCKING SMIRK

I just can't get a firm read on Rush. He's charming, sexy, funny, and downright chatty one second, and then he's all broody and distant the next.

Not to mention how casually he dropped those four men. The display of skill, speed, and marksmanship is damn near unparalleled. You don't acquire that kind of godlike talent with a gun by going to the range a few times a week, nor by gallivanting around playing gangster, nor do you kill four men without so much as blinking unless you've done it so many times it really is nothing.

And then there’s the tiny little fact that he's hot as fuck. Drool-worthy hot. Fan myself just looking at him, hot. The jawline? The stubble? The eyes? God, the eyes. Right now, he's pensive and broody as he devours his food—and it seems pensive means his eyes are more gray.

Let's talk about his arms, shall we? Because damn. His arms are pussy-killers. Mine is sitting up and taking notice, that's for sure. I mean, what is it about a man with big, sexy, strong arms wearing a long-sleeve Henley? It's fucking sinful. Arms should not be able to ripple inside the sleeves of his shirt. Yet, there they are, thicker than an overfed anaconda, rippling inside his sleeves with every movement.

I think there's actual drool at the corner of my lip. I bet he has at least sixty-eight abs, too.

Gah. Down girl, I internally yell at my vagina. Get a grip.

But how can anyone expect me to have a grip on my libido when he says things like "art is meant to be appreciated live and in person" in reference to his cock? Plus the exquisitely self-assured way he said it? He knows he's telling the unvarnished truth. Meaning, he has a giant, beautiful cock.

My libido has been on an extended hiatus. Even my usual spicy romantasy books haven't been able to revive the spark lately, and usually my spark is more like an out-of-control wildfire.

Shit, shit, shit. Wrong direction to take the train of thought, Bryn. Good job. Now you're thinking about Zero.

Libido…dead.

The food—hash browns slathered in ketchup, pancakes, sausage links, and cheesy scrambled eggs—is suddenly unpalatable.

Rush notices. "All right?"

I nod but say nothing.

"Wasn't born at night or last night, love. C'mon. Out with it." Maybe it's because I've talked to him more now, but I'm gradually finding it easier to understand him.

“No. It's…nevermind. I'm fine."

He nods, spearing a sausage with his fork and biting a huge chunk off the end, speaking after he's swallowed most of it. "A'right, then. I know better when a woman says she's fine, but you don't wanna talk about it and I ain't the one to push."

I expect him to push, despite what he said, but he doesn’t. He just eats in silence—he ordered two full meals and has polished them both off in the time it's taken me to eat half of my one meal.

I force myself to go back to eating, pushing away thoughts of Zero. "You're really not going to ask?"

"I did. But when a woman says no, I listen. You wanna tell me what's got you giving me those sad puppy eyes, I'd like to hear it. But nah, I'm not gonna ask again."

"There were no sad puppy dog eyes."

He snorts sarcastically, gesturing at me with his fork. "There absolutely was. Big, deep, sad, brown puppy dog eyes. Tragical. Full of sorrow."

I sigh in disgust. "Jerk."

He laughs. "What? Why'm I a jerk? Just pointing out facts. And, I'll point out, showing concern by asking about it."