“Checking if the car’s stolen, I bet,” he whispers back, unmoving, his eyes pinned to the officer. Well, that’s not a problem, is it? I mean, Prince’s dead. He couldn’t have called the cops to tell them we stole his car. I don’t think he’d do that even if he was alive.
A couple of minutes later, the officer whirls around to us, eyes so wide I see the whites all the way from here. Something is wrong. Apollo doesn’t show any emotions as the man walks closer, a hand dropping on his weapon.
“Is there any problem, officer?” Apollo asks, the anger is his voice barely contained.
“I’m going to ask you all to leave the car.” He pulls his gun from the holster, pointing it at Apollo. The sight of it makes my stomach cave in, and cold immediately trickles through my veins. “Very slowly.”
Apollo touches the door. I want to tell him not to leave. “Is there a reason?” he asks.
“There’s a warrant for you.” The officer juts his chin in Apollo’s direction. “You’re under arrest for being complicit in the escaping of the criminal who murdered the Light Mage. Get out of the car, slowly, with your hands in the air.”
“Apollo,” I squeal out, my voice pathetic, and I’m so lucky he interprets it before I say anything else.
“I know,” he shoots back to me and grips the wheel again.
Apollo slams a foot onto the gas pedal and speeds off. The car jerks ahead, fast. The momentum shoves us back against the seat. I gasp, and Don’s hand, still on my neck, forces my head down to my knees. I feel his body over mine, then Ren’s, pressing me down. Something wheezes past us. Glass shatters.
“Fuck!” Apollo screams. I wince, more because of the scream than the glass breaking, even when some of it rains down my back. Tristan grunts, just grunts, but it’s a grunt I dislike. A grunt different from his previous grunts.
The car moves into the night and Apollo takes a sharp turn. He turns the headlights off and we’re covered in darkness. I try to sit up, but Don and Ren hold me down. Tristan hisses in pain.
“What happened?” I cry out, trying to see through the mess of hair on my face.
“He shot us,” Don replies in a steady voice. “Stay down.”
He shot us? The words muddle into my brain, and I look up through my hair, reaching out to touch Tristan. “Tristan! Tristan, are you hurt?”
“No,” he replies, but his voice is strained, full of pain.
Fuck. Fuck. Did I just get Tristan shot? Pain flares in my chest, and I feel the truth in it. The officer shot us. Apollo has a warrant because he helped me. And now I got Tristan shot. It’s all because of me. And no matter how many times Tristan tells me he’s alright, I can’t swallow the guilt.
I can’t ignore the danger they’re in for being with me.
CHAPTER4
APOLLO
Among my Special Shifter Division abilities were items like identifying, researching, tracking. Driving? No. Driving was nowhere on the list, and I never thought I’d be the one Fast-and-Furiousingthe shit away from the cops.
I mean, I’m technically a cop. Of course I never thought I’d be the one on the running end.
Staying in small, side roads, I keep the lights off and trust my shifter sight. In moments, I lose the cruiser, disappearing in tiny town roads and hoping the fucker won’t try to follow us. My dragon snarls inside me. He wishes we could have punched the bastard until he ate his words back. He fucking called Cassandra a prostitute. The memory stirs a hatred so deep and so fierce inside me I can’t help but roar.
“Tristan?” My mate whispers behind me, reaching out between the seats and touching Tristan’s arm.
“He’s alright, mate,” I shoot back, the darkness meaning nothing to my dragon sight. The bullet hit Tristan on his left shoulder, but his skin is rough and his body is already working to expel the projectile. “He saved you, and he’s alright.”
“Saved me?”
“It was either his shoulder or your head,” says Donatello, and I’m forced to agree. Just what the fuck did that officer had in mind? He recognized me, yes, but he shot randomly. You’re supposed to shoot at the car, aren’t you? What if Cassandra was someone I kidnapped? What if she were a civilian? He would have killed her if it wasn’t for Donatello’s reflexes.
Cassandra makes a sound like that doesn’t help her. She doesn’t care she was almost killed — she’s more worried about Tristan, the man made out of stone, getting shot. I roll my eyes, even if she can’t see me. “Mate. Stop worrying. We’re tough.”
“Tougher than a bullet?” she barks back and I shoot a glance at the rearview mirror, at her. I adore when her temper flares, can’t deny it. “How tough are you, Mr. Dragon? Can you take a shot to the head and keep going?” Her voice heightens. “Maybe we could make this our new thing. I shoot you while we’re fucking. What do you say?”
I reach behind me, gripping her knee. Tristan’s hand reaches out too, closing around her shin. “I’m alright, Cass,” he says. “It hurts, but it’s almost gone now.”
“What do you mean it’s almost gone?” she breathes, gripping his arm with both hands.