ford

I wake up in the pitch black of the bus with Juliet draped over my side, using my bicep for a pillow. Her mouth is open, she’s snoring softly, and a puddle of her drool has dampened my sweatshirt. I also have one hell of a crick in my neck from sleeping slumped sideways and my right h*p is asleep, but I don’t move.

I don’t want to wake her.

I want to memorize how good it feels to have her body warm and relaxed against mine, how perfect she smells, and how sleep blurs the lines between the new Juliet and the old. Asleep, her energy is the same, the core of her being vibrating at the exact frequency I remember from our nap in the motel on our first day together.

The day she killed a woman with my motorcycle while running away from me…

I’m hiding so many things from her and every secret I keep is another barrier between us. But the truth won’t set her free. It will only make her new life more confusing.

She isn’t that person anymore. She hasn’t been through the things that made killing easier than letting down her guard and admitting that she has feelings for another human being.

Easier than even letting me make her come…

I should be happy about that. Making Juliet come is one of my favorite things in the world and this version of her clearly replaces me attractive. Once we’re alone somewhere safe, I’m sure she’d happily join me in bed and let me worship her body all night long. She wouldn’t fight the things I make her feel or be afraid that pleasure was a cage designed to trap her behind pink, bliss-covered bars.

But I’m not happy. I’m confused and sad and angry and…hard. Like it or not, her body this close, her scent teasing at my nose, is enough to make my c**k do its best to rip through the zipper of my stolen jeans.

I have to get up. Walk around. Shake this off.

Gently, I shift out from under her, guiding her down to lay on the bench seat as I make my way into the aisle. I visit the bathroom at the back, wash my hands, and head back out, stretching as I slowly wander back to our place in the middle of the vehicle.

Several of the people who were on the bus before are gone now. There’s only the group of ten older women up front by the driver and the two men in the back, who look like they’re on their way to a construction site or something in their heavy black boots. All of them seem to be asleep, which isn’t surprising. The digital display above the driver’s head reads 3:02 a.m.

It’s the witching hour.

When I was little, my mother used to tell me that if I woke up at three, I should turn around three times beside my bed, tell the spirits I wasn’t interested in a chat, and ask the goddess for a blessing. Her mother had been superstitious and positive ghosts were not only real, but prone to abducting children in the night. Mom was a more practical person, but seemed compelled to pass on her mother’s teachings, just in case.

But I’m not a child anymore and there’s nothing scary about this time of night.

It’s just…lonely.

“You okay?” Juliet whispers as I slide into the seat beside her, proving I’m not as alone as I feel.

I nod. “Yeah. You?”

“Not really, but I think that’s to be expected,” she continues in a low voice. “I saw Lost Moon out the window, not long after you fell asleep. I caught a glimpse of it across the water as we headed south. The lights in the guard towers were on and the windows of the taller buildings were glowing. It looked so warm and inviting. So safe.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” I say.

“But there’s a chance the good guys took it back, right?” she asks. “I mean, from everything you said, it sounds like Hammer’s people and the brotherhood are probably more heavily armed, but there are more people who want the school to stay the way it is than people who want it under the control of a crazed warlord. What if they rose up and took it back? What if we’re on this mission for nothing? Is there any way we can check in with the people back there and see what’s going on?”

I lift both shoulders. “I don’t know. We could try to call, I guess. Once we get to Montreal. If we can get through to Layla or our other friends on their cells, we can probably assume things aren’t as bad as we thought.”

“But you don’t think that will happen.”

“I don’t,” I confess. “And we’ll have to be careful to hide where we’re calling from. If Hammer’s in control and monitoring everyone’s cell activity, we don’t want him realizing we’re only a hop, skip, and a jump away in Montreal. He has helicopters at his disposal and could catch up with us in a lot less than twelve hours.”

“Is there a way to conceal the number we’re calling from?” she asks, her brow furrowing. “Like…calling through the computer? With an area code from somewhere else? I feel like that’s a thing, right?”

Again, I don’t understand how she can know so much about the world and so little about herself, but I don’t say anything about it. We both have way more questions than answers about everything right now. “Yes, there is. We just need to replace a computer to use. At a library maybe or a hotel with a business center.”

“They’ll let you use the business center even if you’re not a guest?”

“No, but if you walk in like you belong there, most people won’t ask questions. That’s how my friends and I snuck into the resorts near Zion’s winter pack lands. Act like you belong, make a beeline straight to the hot tub, and don’t crash the same place too many times in a row.”

“Sounds like fun,” she says, leaning her head on my shoulder.

“It was,” I say, torn between loving that she feels so comfortable touching me and wanting to shake her until she remembers that she’s a woman who makes me work for every single scrap of intimacy. “Not all my memories of growing up in Hammer’s pack are bad. There were good times.”

“For me, too?” she asks. “Or was I always the kid he wished had never been born?”

“No, he loved you. I’m betting he still does. In his own f****d-up way.”

“It just isn’t enough,” she whispers. “Love isn’t always enough.”

“No,” I say, my heart twisting in my chest as I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her closer.

“But it should be,” she says, snuggling closer. She turns her face to my chest and exhales a soft m**n that goes straight to the d**k I only recently got back under control. “Why do you smell so good? You’re better than fresh baked bread and pickle juice combined.”

My lips curve. “Pickle juice?”

“Pickle juice is delicious, right? My tongue says it is.” She wraps her arm around my waist and relaxes against me. “We should get some when we get to Montreal, and I can do a sniff test to see which is better—Ford smell or pickle juice.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I say, pressing a soft k**s to the top of her head.

She’s asleep a few minutes later, but I stay awake, holding her and loving her and wondering if it’s going to be enough to help us both get through.