Page 7 of Touch Of Fate

“Slow down. You’ll get another ticket,” he scolds.

“I can talk my way out of anything,” I say. “Cops don’t stand a chance. I can spell them.”

“You couldn’t talk yourself out of jail.”

“Please, I could have. Too many witnesses, remember.” I slow down slightly.

“Right,” he drawls. “We could talk about the time you got in a fight at the bar.”

“You swore we would never talk about that again,” I growl.

“I don’t remember saying that,” he muses.

“I distinctly remember swearing you to secrecy,” I remind him.

“The man you hit probably couldn’t chew for a month,” he says.

“He was an asshole.” I grind my teeth. The man tried to drug a woman. I saw and taught him a lesson. The cops thought he was the victim and arrested me.

“That was the second time I had to bail you out,” he mentions lightly.

“You know he deserved it.”

“He did. I thought it was funny as fuck when he tried to talk with a broken jaw.” He laughs at the memory.

“Then why are you giving me shit about it?” I scowl.

“Are you more relaxed?”

“Fucker,” I mumble, rolling my shoulders. “Yes.”

“Good.”

I shake my head. Archer always knows how to calm me down. Everything he said is true. I’ve been to jail many times. As much as I like to portray myself as a man who doesn't give a shit, it’s partly an act. I see an injustice and can’t let it go.

I got arrested for a stranger. Archer had better have his bail money ready. I can’t imagine what I’ll do for my soul bond.

Chapter Three

Mara

“Quit itching,” Lace scolds.

“You saying that doesn’t stop the itching,” I point out, continuing to scratch my skin.

“Spell it,” she whispers, looking around the store. There are a handful of people roaming the shelves.

“I’ve tried,” I mumble. Anything I do doesn’t help. I have the feeling Savy was right. Someone is coming.

“I can’t wait to meet him.” She grins, and I roll my eyes. A man wanders to the counter, smiling at me, and sets down his purchase.

“Did you find everything?” I ask, picking up the book. Gardening. Huh…I wouldn’t have guessed that.

“I did.” He stares at my gloved hands. “Are you alright?”

“Of course.” I smile tightly. I never get sick of that question. I scan his book and reach for a bag.

“It looks painful,” he says. He trails his fingers over the skin I was itching, just above my glove. That’s when it happens. I wasn’t expecting it, and I didn’t move fast enough.