Page 21 of Hunted By Wraith

She lets out a full belly laugh, the kind that has tears forming in her silver eyes.

I can’t tell if she’s mocking me or just naturally chaotic.

“Black Betty, ya know?” She scrunches her nose at me and rolls her eyes.

I watch her grab her phone and scroll through it before drums and guitar fill the car, the familiar beat clicking in my head just as the lyrics start.

Then it hits me—she named her black car Betty.

I’ve never had something go so far over my head that I was the one left dumbfounded.

I stare at this woman—this deadly, skilled killer—who names her car after a rock song.

“I have to admit, that was not what I expected.”

She glances at me out of the corner of her eye, a teasing smile curving her lips.

“It’s not my fault that you’re boring, Dario.”

The way my name rolls off her tongue makes my blood pump hot with something I have never felt before.

We pull up beside the guys, and she waves them to follow.

As we drive through Vegas, I notice her breathing is labored, her hands trembling slightly as she grips the wheel.

“You doing okay there, pumpkin?” I ask softly.

“Oh, me? Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little sore.”

I eye her a little longer before nodding and looking back out the window.

“You mentioned that you were staying somewhere else. Why aren’t you at home?”

She lets out a long breath. “It’s a long story that I’m sure we’ll all discuss soon.”

I can tell she’s not in the mood to say more, so I keep quiet.

None of us knew why she was hunting the Russians or why they had plans to keep her alive. She had never gotten her hands dirty in her father’s business before from what we heard so seeing her take down these men was not expected.

Maybe losing him made her snap. Maybe we gave her the idea of who wasn’t welcome in her city.

I’m lost in thought when we pull up to a warehouse on the outskirts of the south side.

“You’re staying in a warehouse?”

She laughs. “Well, it’s what the Gaelic Reapers had available.”

The infamous MC. Everyone assumes they’re just another street gang, but that’s the illusion they want people to believe. At least that’s what Keir said when his cousin said as he was a member.

“That makes sense. Plus, it’s well hidden from whoever you’re hiding from.” I wink at her.

She parks around the back and climbs out, gripping the roof for support when she stumbles.

“You sure you’re okay?”

She rolls her eyes at me, but before she can answer, Keir and Kaz pull up beside us.

“There’s a room inside the warehouse that should fit our needs.”