Wretched (Never After Series)(24)

I reach over, clicking the seat belt across my chest. “I have the right to ask questions. You’re in charge of my life right now.”

She scoffs.

“I’m serious. What if we crash because your tiny feet in those ridiculous eighteen-inch heels can’t feel the pedals?”

“They’re six inches.” Her eyes drift to my lap as she starts the car. “But I’m not surprised you’d exaggerate.”

“I think we both know I don’t need to stretch the truth, sweetheart.”

She laughs. “Sure.”

“What’s that mean?” I frown.

She stays silent, her eyes on the road as she pulls out of the long drive, ignoring the security guards at the gate and turns onto the main road.

Irritation sticks my insides like mosquitoes.

Who the fuck has she been with that’s bigger than me?

“Don’t think too hard, you’ll hurt yourself,” she quips.

“Where are we going anyway?” I change the subject, resting my arm against the car door.

“None of your business.”

“Your dad seems to think it’s my business.”

She side-eyes me. “Yeah, well, my dad isn’t known for his decision-making skills.”

I lean in. “Then what is he known for?”

“Fishing for information again, stalker? What are you, a cop?”

The words wrap around my neck like a noose and I slam back in my seat. “I’m just making conversation, Christ.”

“Well, stop.”

I don’t respond, taking some time to watch her as she drives, my eyes soaking in her features, the dark eyeliner and long lashes doing nothing but highlighting the almost perfect bone structure of her cheeks. Her hair is thrown in a messy bun and her black tank top stretches tight against her breasts. Goddamn, she’s beautiful.

“You do this often for your dad?”

She peeks at me. “I do it enough.”

I nod toward her outfit. “Why the skirt? Not really the best attire for dealing with drug dealers and coercing money from shops.”

Her jaw clenches. “Worry about yourself.”

Chuckling, I shake my head. “You’re so uptight. I think you need to get fucked again. How long has it been?”

She doesn’t respond, but I don’t miss the way her knuckles whiten around the steering wheel.

Satisfaction teases my middle and I quirk a brow. “Was it me?”

She snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m just asking.” I throw my hands up, palms facing her.

“It’s painfully predictable that you’d expect my emotions to be tied to whether or not I have a dick inside of me.”

I shrug, grinning. “Just working off experience, sweetheart.”

“Quit calling me that. I am not your sweetheart.” She tightens her grip on the wheel.

“Ever heard of manifestation?” I retort. “You gotta speak things into existence. Maybe if I say it enough, you’ll stop being such a bitch.”

The car rolls to a stop and she turns to look at me, those brown eyes sucking me in like a vortex. “So that’s it then?” She licks her lips. “You think I should find another man who can throw me up against a bathroom wall and fuck me until I scream?”

My abdomen clenches and my mouth dries. “Couldn’t hurt,” I somehow manage to rasp.

Her gaze flicks down. “No, I agree. Definitely couldn’t hurt.”

My eyes narrow, but I don’t speak again, not wanting to give her more ammunition to hurt my pride. I can’t tell if she’s just being catty or if she’s trying to tell me something, and either way, I don’t feel like playing her games anymore.

The car gets quiet, nothing but the simmering irritation lingering in the air between us. It allows me time to get lost in my thoughts, watching the streets zoom by as we drive, memorizing the layout in case it’s somewhere I’ll need to know for later.

Before long, we pull up to a small group of buildings in the main strip of Kinland, parking directly in front of Anderson’s, a sub shop.

“You strapped?” she asks.

My stomach tightens, and I glance at her, lifting a brow along with the hem of my shirt. Her eyes drop to where a sliver of my stomach shows and continues her trek down until she sees the gun holstered at the waistband of my pants. I hate how good it feels to have her eyes on me.

She swallows and turns off the car, her arm barely brushing against my chest as she reaches over the console and opens the glove compartment.

A whiff of something floral and earthy hits my nose, and my cock jerks. I grit my teeth, disgusted at my body’s reaction. Get it the fuck together.

She pulls out a rose-gold Desert Eagle, and my eyes widen as I watch her caress it lovingly.

“Big gun for such a little girl.”

“You know, you really have an obsession with size.” She pulls back the slide to chamber a round. “Wonder why that is?”

She grabs the bottom of her black skirt, sliding it up her flawless skin. My veins heat and my stomach cramps as she exposes her leg inch by torturous inch. I want to look away, know I should look away, but I’m transfixed as she continues to lift until a thigh holster appears.

I swallow a groan. Fucking hell.