Gaslight (Crossbreed #4)(123)

I looked at Christian’s bike, no sign of him.

“Over here,” he said.

When I turned the opposite way and looked behind the ramp, my heart stopped.

A blue pickup stood out like a sore thumb. Christian was sitting on the open tailgate, ankles crossed as he watched my reaction. I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, but the 1974 Ford pickup still had the OUTLAW decal on the back windshield.

It was my daddy’s truck.

I flashed toward it, afraid it might actually disappear. “He sold it.” I walked alongside the classic, my fingers sliding across the smooth exterior.

Christian stood up in the bed and rested his arms over the top. “Aye. Shepherd lifted the hood to look around but said she was in mint condition. Your da takes care of the things he loves.”

“Yeah,” I said wistfully, memories flooding back as I peered inside. It looked like he’d replaced the carpets and cleaned the vinyl seat cover. The bench didn’t have armrests or dividers to separate the driver from the passenger. I pressed my nose against the window and wondered if the interior would still smell like that awful cologne that he sometimes wore.

“It’s all yours for six hundred dollars.”

I backed up and gave him a lethal glare. “That’s all you gave him?”

His eyes swung up. “He said it brought back too many memories, and it mattered more to find an owner who would appreciate it and not use it for spare parts.”

“He didn’t recognize you?”

Christian tapped his hands on the panel. “You wanted the truck, so here it is. If you’d rather I take it back—”

“No. This is the best thing anyone’s ever given me.”

It felt like a piece of my soul had been restored. I’d been through more hell in my life than Nine Circles had rooms for, and yet somehow all I needed was this damn truck to see me through the next chapter.

“I shined her up.”

I admired the new tires. “Why would my daddy spend money on new tires only to sell it for a few hundred bucks?”

Christian turned down his mouth and shrugged.

“You did all this today?”

He sat on the edge and swung his legs over before jumping out. “No, just after Fletcher. I never found the right time. You were away with your thoughts, and I wasn’t sure what a gift like this might do.”

“Afraid I would have driven to Mexico, never to return?” I leaned my shoulder against the truck.

“You sure this is what you want?”

I stepped closer to him and stared at the small buttons on the collar of his Henley. They were undone, as always.

Christian tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and gently pinched my chin. “What’s on your mind?”

“Do you think I’m cursed?”

He arched a brow. “Why the feck would you ask me a thing like that?”

“Remember when we went to Washington? One Eye thought I was a demon—that my eyes meant I was cursed.”

“Are you mental? You’re going to believe the words of an old fart who wanted to put your eye in his own dead socket?”

“What if he was right? The ancients believe all kinds of things, and some of them are true.”

A quiet moment passed, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.

He gave me a crooked smile. “Now that we’ve managed to get ourselves on the most-wanted list in two countries, why don’t we celebrate?”

I strode around him to the back and slammed the tailgate shut. “I’m not in the mood for drinks.”

Christian walked over and put his arm around me. “Then why not go to that godforsaken diner?”

“Ruby’s?” I thought about how nice it would be to sit at my old table and catch up with Betty.

He led me to the door and opened it. “The onion rings are on me.”

I hopped in and sat facing him. “I’ll settle for apple pie with a scoop of ice cream. After an Angus burger, of course.”

Christian wedged himself between my legs, and my breath hitched when he brushed his lips against mine. “Aye. And if you ever place another bet that involves my riding in the trunk of a car, I’ll feed you to the whales.”

“Promise?” I nibbled his bottom lip. “I jumped out of an airplane because of you. Let’s call it even.”

“Even? That wasn’t my fault,” he breathed. “And who’s the one who hid your corpses?”

I wrapped my arm around his neck and pulled him to me as I reclined in the seat. “I would have taken the blame.”

“Such a martyr you are, Raven Black.”

When he leaned in, I turned my head away.

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

“Why should I?”

Christian tilted my head toward him. “Because your lips belong to me.”

We fell into a passionate kiss—slow and sensual. When it tapered off, I stared up into his beautiful eyes. And yeah, the more I got to know Christian, the more handsome he became in ways most unexpected, even the rogue whiskers that grew down his neck and how the sharp angles of his face contradicted his soft lips.

“You never answered my question,” I said.

He propped himself up and stared down at me. “Which one?”

I played with a loose thread on his shirt. “About being cursed. I might ruin your life.”