“Don’t act like an idiot, and I won’t treat you like one.”
I crossed the room with such speed he was still looking at where I had been standing when I slapped him across the face. If I’d been trying to hurt him, I would have punched him instead, but I was just reacting to the sting of his words by inflicting a little pain of my own.
The silence between us after the smack of my hand meeting his face was almost deafening.
“I’m doing this for us, you asshole.”
“Let me come with you, then.”
I shook my head and took a step back, not wanting to be touching. I couldn’t think right when I was close to him. Our physical chemistry was the kind that caused explosions, and we were both running hot. I needed to stay level-headed, and the second he touched me my rage would flicker out and the heat would become something different.
That would be our whole lives together. Somewhere between driving each other mental and having mind-blowing make-up sex. I was all for the sex part, but right now I had a point I needed to make.
“I can’t bring you. I need her to trust me if I’m going to get her to come back with me, and if I go busting into the woods with the whole damned pack in tow, she’ll never agree to come. Plus, we’ve been here three days and no one has tried to kill me yet. I think it stands to reason whoever has it in for me is still in New York.”
He couldn’t argue with that. If someone wanted to kill me out here, there was plenty of opportunity. One eagle-eyed sniper in the oak trees was all it would take. Hell, if Callum was involved, he could have made any number of unfortunate accidents happen. Instead he welcomed me into his pack and asked me to do one favor.
“He said he’ll give us his blessing. You once said you would do anything for the pack. Let me do this. If I can bring her back, I will have helped strengthen our pack.”
“Say that again.”
“Say what?”
“The last part.”
“Our pack?”
Lucas let out a breath I hadn’t realized he was holding in. “You really are doing this for us, aren’t you?”
“I’m not running into the fucking swamp for fun.”
“Can I convince you to take Jackson?”
I shook my head. “No. But I promise you I’ll be safe.” I obviously couldn’t tell him I’d have a guard with me because he would shit bricks and die if I announced I’d been hiding Holden in a crumbling pigeon coop this whole time.
“I’d never have been able to talk you out of it anyway.”
“No. But if you’re starting to understand that, it means this marriage thing might actually work.” I smiled and crossed the room again, only this time it was to hug him instead of smacking him around. “Thank you.”
“Just come back to me in one piece.
I paid a hundred grand for wedding dresses. I’d like to see you wear one of them.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I picked up Holden at the St. Francisville city limits, far enough from Callum’s compound I didn’t think I was being watched. We drove in silence because I was sick of the classic-rock radio station, and there was nothing I felt needed to be said.
It took us a little over an hour to get from St. Francisville to Maurepas, and the only time Holden spoke on the whole trip was just beyond Baton Rouge when he not-so-politely reminded me that if he’d been allowed to drive we would be there by now.
Night was waning and I didn’t feel like tempting fate by going into the swamp tonight. An old budget motel was on the side of the highway about ten minutes from the main park entrance. The motel’s backyard slopped into the edges of the swamp itself, and a homemade sign next to the office said Watch for Gators.
A balding man with a beer gut and a faceful of acne scars gave Holden and me a key to room 5 and kept sneaking glances past us out the window to the parking lot where we’d left the Mercedes I’d borrowed from Callum. I was in jeans, but Holden was wearing a smart blazer and looked like he’d sprung to life from the pages of a fashion magazine. The desk clerk appeared to trust us about as far as his twig-thin arms could throw us.
“You folks planning on staying long?”
“Just for the day. We’ve had a long drive and we’re hoping to get some sleep before we make our way to New Orleans,” I lied smoothly. “We might want to go into the swamp tomorrow. Can you recommend a good tour?”
The man gawked at me as if I’d requested a guided tour of the seven levels of Hell but handed me a crumpled pamphlet that had been crudely made on a home printer. It said Swamp Tours! and even I thought the exclamation mark looked like it was trying too hard.