Crash into You (Pushing the Limits, #3)(14)

Chapter 9

Isaiah

RACHEL’S BODY STIFFENS AGAINST MINE. I’ve scared her. Of course I have. I’ve thrown an angel against a wall, into darkness, and asked her to do something unthinkable.

The area between my shoulder blades itches as if I’ve got a bull’s-eye painted on my back. The cops must be scanning us.

She places her soft hands on my bare forearms and whispers my name with an edge of panic. “Isaiah, they’re looking at us.”

Girls like her never notice guys like me and damn me to hell for enjoying her touch and the sound of my name on her lips. I may be a lot of things, but naive isn’t one of them. Her dependence on me is because she’s terrified of the cops. “Tell me how close they are,” I demand.

“Very,” she breathes out.

“Are they still looking at us?”

She nods. Fuck.

Kissing would be better, but I won’t drag her further into hell by forcing her to be physical with me. I lower my head away from hers and hover my lips near her neck. Rachel’s chest moves as she sucks in air. God forgive me for scaring her. “Angle your head to mine to hide your face,” I whisper. “It’ll just appear like we’re hooking up.”

She does, and her forehead brushes against my cheek. “I’m sorry,” she says.

My eyebrows furrow. “For what?”

“For...for...messing this up. You would be safe if it wasn’t for me.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” I turn my head in her direction. Her face is centimeters from mine, and she looks up at me with wide, beautiful blue eyes. Above us, a security light flickers on, then off. I’m wrong. They aren’t blue. Those eyes are so dark they’re violet. “You could have left me behind.”

I’ll never forget that. Never. Only one other person in my life would risk everything for me. That’s Noah. Our bond is one forged through the blood of battles won and lost in the system. We understand each other. Get each other. Have each other’s backs. We’re surviving warriors.

But this girl...she owed me nothing. Yeah, I turned back for her, but when I did, I knew I would still make it out. Her scenario was different. When I blew a tire, Satan was breathing down our necks and she stood against the flame. Hell, without batting an eyelash, she’s still standing in the inferno.

I owe her.

She lets out an unsteady breath. Her eyes fixate on the Brothers of the Arrow Knot tattooed on my left forearm then follow the flaming tail of the dragon that winds up my biceps and disappears from view at my short sleeve. I know what she sees: a punk.

Without moving her head, Rachel glances to the right and sucks in her lower lip. I’ve seen roses the color of her lips. “They’ve gone across the street.”

The tension eases from my muscles. I slide my fingers through hers again and pull her in the opposite direction of the cops. We need to get inside so I don’t have to keep tossing the girl against buildings. She deserves better than that. My apartment is close, but not close enough. Rachel and I need walls between us and the streets.

Rachel obviously said a prayer to her God, because a few feet down the sidewalk, beneath a neon sign, is our answer: a guy who owes me for fixing his car. The line into the club stretches beyond the plastic ropes and wraps around the building, but we won’t have to wait.

Jerry lifts his chin in acknowledgment the moment he sees me. “Isaiah, what’s doing?”

“I got problems.”

“I’m not twenty-one,” Rachel whispers. Neither am I, but we can hide here.

The rolls on the fat son of a bitch shake as he eyes me then Rachel. She fastens her other hand securely on my wrist and moves so that she’s behind me. Good job, angel. Let him know that I’m your man. At least you’re a fast learner.

I rub my thumb over her smooth skin in approval, then stop. She doesn’t need my approval. I’m not her man, but, for now, I am her protector.

Two guys in the middle of the line shout, asking what the holdup is, and Jerry informs them where to shove their complaints. He lights a cigarette and inclines his head to the police scanner sitting on the small table next to the door. “Someone called in a street race and the cops are all over it. First solid tip they’ve had in months. They’re pulling people in left and right. Not part of that action, are you?”

“Would it matter?”

Jerry grins with the cigarette still dangling from his bottom lip. “No.” He lifts the rope and takes a step to create a path. “Impressed you got out.”

With Rachel on my heels, we brush past Jerry. I pause in the door frame, half of me heated from the warmth of the club, the other half freezing from the night air. Jerry said the cops had a tip, not a report. A dangerous anger curls up my spine. “Did you say someone informed?”

He draws in smoke, then releases it. “Yeah. Tell Eric he’s got a snitch.”

A snitch. Fuck. Not what anyone needs. Eric’s a mean * already, and he’ll go insane if he thinks someone turned his business over to the police. A gentle tug on my hand coaxes my attention back to Rachel. “Isaiah, let’s get inside.”

Yeah. Inside.

The door closes behind me and I wait for Rachel to drop her hand. Instead, she inches closer to me when she surveys the narrow room. The chipped, worn wooden bar stretches the length of the left wall and in a nook on the opposite wall sits a stage.