Page 94 of Jensen

“What are you—”

“I said, do you understand me?”

My fists ball. “Yes, I do.I will.”

We’re traveling up a road so narrow,it barely fits the truck. There’s a suggestion of gravel beneath us but not much else, and Jensen is going almost eighty miles an hour. Until he’s not. He slams his foot on the brake, arm shooting out to catch me as I lurch forward.

“Get outand ball yourself up behind the tire,” he says, ripping the gun from his shoulderholster and holding it out. “Do not use this unless I’m dead.”

I see him like a snapshot, bathed in sweat but not afraid.

That’s when something clicks into place that makes him so much less of a mystery. Jensen doesn’t fear death,notat all. I think there’s a tiny part of him that sees it, like the low whine of an incoming explosion, and knows he can’t sidestep.

The haunted expression in his ice blue eyes isn’t fear for himself. It’s for all the people he expects to lose along the way.

Right now, it’s for me.

“Yes,” I whisper.

We have half a second, and I take it, spending it the only way I want to: by kissing his mouth, so quickly,he can’t react. I want him to be the last thing I taste if we don’t make it out.

His arm shoots out, hand wrapping around my neck as I pull away. He kisses me back so hard,our teeth clash. Then, he’s reaching past me to shove my door open.

“Get down, baby,” he says. “Stay down.”

I drop, wrapping my arms around my knees. He tumbles out of the passenger door and eases to the left, positioning himself behindthe back tire. From here, he scans the swampland below. There’s a faint tearing sound fromthe SUV tires,getting close. All my senses burn with adrenaline. My head spins,and I have to force myself to breathe.

“Fuck,” he murmurs.

I glance to the side. He’s shoving the pistol in his holster and reaching into the bed of the truck. Faster than I can follow, he’s pulling an AK from the truck bed and clicking a magazine into it. I think I’m losing my mind,because he’s never looked sexier than he does right now: bathed in sweat, shirt plastered to his chest, wet hair curling. AK locked into place and eye on the sight.

His focus is intense, the barrel of the rifle moving slightly.

“Fuck,” he murmurs again.

Something crawls over my foot. It’s a furry caterpillar, the kind we had all over the holler back in Harlan.

Bang.

My entire body lurches.

“Eat lead, motherfucker,” he says, like he doesn’t even realize he’s speaking.

My nails cut into my palms.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Brakes screech down below. There’s a colossal crash and a hissing noise like pressurized steam. Jensen lowers the sight and turns to the side, spitting the gum out of his mouth. He pulls back, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face.

“We need to go down and getthe bodies out of the truck,” he rasps. “Kill any survivors. You’ll stay in the truck.”

He puts the AK into the back seat and holds his hand out to me. I take it, letting him pull me to my feet. I’m speechless. So this is why Brothers said Jensen was his most valuable asset back in the day. He does not give a fuck about killing people. There was no hesitation there, not a second of it.

“Della, get in the truck,” he says.