Addicted to You (Addicted #1)(64)

“The girl said that Michael wanted all four of you.”

Matt huffs. “Can you do me a favor, Ryke? These two owe my uncle forty grand.” He points to me. “This girl says her checkbook is in the car. Follow them and get the money from her.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

My stomach drops further. Now we’re going to be tailed by Matt’s superhero friend who looks fit enough to tackle me and pin me to the grass. Maybe not Lo. Definitely me. Probably Connor…Great.

The evil Turtle disappears around the corner and Ryke shifts his attention to us. “Where’s the car?” He turns his head, and I catch his profile: unshaven jaw, slender nose, brown eyes that melt into honey. He’s something I would normally pursue without question. I shake off the thought, especially since he’s friends with Thomas Jefferson’s cousins.

“This way.” Connor leads us to his limo.

Lo slips his hand around my waist, bringing me close. Ryke walks ahead of us with Connor, and Lo burns holes into the superhero’s back. Besides the fact that Ryke is working as Matt’s errand boy, I wonder if Lo feels threatened. Did he see me eyeing him? I’m not so sure. Ryke also stands a good inch above Lo, probably six foot three, and carries himself with that extra assurance, exuding a strong sense of masculinity. Lo does too, but there’s a small difference. I can barely place it. Where Lo is all sharpness, this guy is hard-lined. Like ice versus stone.

I blink, trying not to focus on Ryke’s handsomeness. Not at a time like this.

Five paces out and Lo plucks his flask from his belt, drinking again.

“Is that even your booze?” I ask, pissed that he’s drowning another situation with liquor. But I guess I just spaced out a little—one second from imagining Ryke’s abs. So I can’t be too critical.

He wipes his mouth with his hand. “Maybe.”

Ryke looks over his shoulder every so often. His eyes dart between us, his expression too enigmatic to understand. If Matt trusts him, he can’t be any better than the Ninja Turtles.

Maybe I can cry instead of paying him. Don’t guys get really uncomfortable when girls start sobbing?

“So what are you supposed to be? Robin Hood?” Connor asks.

“Green Arrow,” I correct before Ryke can.

Ryke looks back, and he scrutinizes my costume, his intrusive gaze heating my body. “You know Green Arrow?” he finally asks, meeting my eyes.

“A little,” I mumble. “DC comics aren’t really my thing.” I like the underdog stories, the kind where any average person can be a superhero. Peter Parker, mutants—they know a little something about that.

“Only losers read DC,” Lo adds. Okay, I wouldn’t go that far.

“I don’t read comics,” Ryke confesses. “I’ve just seen Arrow on television. What does that make me?”

“A prick.”

Ryke’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised by the hostility. “I see.”

“For the record,” I interject, “I don’t agree with Lo. I’m not a comic book elitist.” Anyone can read comics, and if you don’t it’s perfectly okay to enjoy the characters in other mediums.

Lo makes a point to roll his eyes at me.

Ryke ignores my comment and turns to Connor who has gone quiet. “Why are you with these two? Aren’t you usually surrounded by a pack of people trying to kiss your ass?”

“I’m broadening my social reach.”

As we near the car, I realize I need to formulate a plan. But my brain short-circuits with each panicked breath. We step into the street and the wind churns, blowing my hair. Connor’s limo hugs the curb.

“Where the hell is your car?” Ryke asks, eyes flickering cautiously to the house.

“Right here.” Connor knocks on the door and Gilligan, his driver, pops open the lock.

I motion for Lo to climb in before me. He sways on his feet, needing no other encouragement. When he’s safely on the leather seat, I begin to relax. Somewhat.

“Where’s your purse?” Connor asks. And then his eyes gradually widen. “Wait, you didn’t bring a purse, did you?”

“I-I…” I avoid Ryke. Is he going to shake me down? Hit me? His broad muscles tense, and I shrivel back in fear.

“What did you do?” Connor asks, horrified.

I open my mouth, but as I look up, I realize he didn’t address me. He glances from Ryke to the lawn where Ninja Turtles sprint out the door, dodging motionless zombies and heading straight for…us.





{17}


“Get in the car,” Ryke urges.

I hop in too fast and whack my head against the metal frame. I curse under my breath and rub the welt, ducking further inside. Lo lies on the longest seat, eyes closed and cradling his flask like a teddy bear. I sit beside him and rest my hand on his ankles.

Connor enters and surprisingly, Ryke follows suit. He slams the door and locks it. “Drive!” he yells.

Gilligan speeds down the suburban street, and the Ninja Turtles race after our getaway limo, their figures visible in the brightness of the taillights. When we gain more and more distance, they slow to a stop and fade into the darkness.

I spin back, facing Connor and Ryke.

Connor says, “Let me guess. There was no fight inside the house.”