My heart drops in my chest. Does he know about Cillian? “I’m confused . . . what?”
“I asked you if everything is okay. You look like shit. Beneath your eyes is almost translucent blue. You’re squinting. You let some douche canoe in a tie carry your shit to your car, when I would have done it for you in a heartbeat if you’d let me.”
“You’re jealous,” I say, and it’s clearly the wrong thing.
“No. I’m not fucking jealous. I’m mad you fucking lied, Iris. You’re not okay. You’re clearly ill or some shit, and you’d rather tell me everything is good than rely on me or let me help you.”
I juggle my books into one hand, wanting desperately to touch his cheek, but I steel myself. He’s the most loyal non-boyfriend I’ve ever had, but I doubt he’d appreciate me telling him that.
My head throbs and I struggle to find the right words to express my feelings. “Why couldn’t you work in accounting or a tattoo studio or something?”
“Fuck,” he mutters, and I realize I said it out loud. “I need to stop doing this. Get in your car. I’ll watch you get home. Goodbye, Iris.”
I do as he says, even as I want to wrap my arms around him.
I mean it.
If he were anything other than from the world I don’t want to be a part of, it would be so easy to finally allow myself to fall into someone. I could trust him to look out for me and not hurt me.
I want to call him back to me, even if it suits Cillian’s goals.
Instead, I start the car, tug on my seat belt, and pull away. Spark follows me as I approach the intersection.
Why is it so impossible? I can’t do what Cillian asks. I can’t use Spark to protect Michael. Perhaps the distance Spark wants to put between us is the right thing. I can’t betray him when he clearly cares about me in his own way.
As I pull up to the main road, I briefly glance behind me. Man, does he look powerful on the back of that bike. So in control of who he is. So measured.
And I—
The world is suddenly in motion as my car spins out of control. There is a truck rammed up against my window. I scream and close my eyes, even as I try and fail to press the brakes and steer into the swerve. The steering wheel whips away from me, and my wrist feels like it’s been snapped in two.
My car and the truck creak and groan as metal crunches against metal. The glass of my window shatters into a million pieces. I can smell gasoline. And then we stop.
Finally.
I don’t even know which way I’m facing as my whole body shakes.
I’m alive.
And my wrist and shoulder really hurt.
Warm tears bubble through as I start to put the pieces together.
And while I’m trying to figure out which way I’m facing, the truck reverses out, then screams away without a glance back.
11
SPARK
They say when you face death, your life flashes before you. But the moment I see Iris’s little car spun by that fucking truck, the only thing that flashes before me is the life we aren’t ever going to have. Me and her. Her on my bike. In my cut. Living together.
With every groan of twisting metal, my stomach gets churned up a little more.
For the first time ever, I forget about my bike and let it fall to the ground as I run to the car.
People get there before me, but I shove them out of the way.
“Iris,” I yell.
If she’s hurt, I’m gonna kill someone. Slowly.
If it was one of those Righteous Brotherhood cunts, I’ll burn down the organization from the top.
Panic races through me. I want to think it’s because of what I’ve just seen, Iris getting spun around and her car crumpled around her. But it’s also the ghosts of dead men, the agony of knowing I missed what was about to happen. The screams and shouts of those who witnessed Iris’s accident sound too much like the echoes of Kabul. And with the license plate of the truck rolling around in my mind and my gut-wrenching need to even the balance sheet, I can’t keep a handle on what to do next.
I reach through the shattered glass of her window and unlock the door from the inside. Tears stain her cheeks, and for a moment, I debate getting back on my bike to chase the fucker. I glance up the street. The clock is ticking . . . but I can’t, not when she’s fucking crying. Gently, I lean across her to unlock her seat belt, but I don’t move her. “Fuck. You okay, little chick? Where hurts?”
“I . . . my arm. Spark, I don’t . . . know what—”
I tuck her hair behind her ear, even as a I try to slow my heartbeat and calm the urge to hunt. The truck is slowed by school traffic and kids crossing. I can still catch them. But my demons need taming. “I’ve got you. You think it’s safe for you to get out of the car, or you want a paramedic to come look at you first?”
“I hurt my wrist. I think I can get out of the car if you help me.”
Moving slowly, I slide my hands beneath her knees and behind her back to ease her out of the car. Without worrying about the crowd of bystanders now watching us, I walk her to the curb and sit her down on the grassy embankment. “You okay there if I just go move your car off the road?”
She nods as tears trickle down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry, little chick. You’re breaking my fucking heart.”
I run my thumbs along her cheeks to wipe them away. She’s shivering. Shock is an ugly fucker. I slip my leather jacket off and drape it over her shoulders. It’s all I’ve got right now to warm her.
“Iris,” a woman yells from a car window. It’s the one who was with her for lunch. We didn’t get introduced. She parks near Iris and jumps out of the car. Then Iris takes one look at her friend and starts to sob. And that’s it.
A desperately wild rage fills me.
“You got her?” I ask the woman.
“My name’s Kasey. And yes, I’ve got her.”
“Take her to the hospital. Don’t leave her alone.” I reach into my wallet and grab my credit card before handing it to Iris. “You don’t have insurance, you put it on that.”
Iris looks up at me with tear-filled eyes. “Spark, what are you . . .”
“Kasey will get you to the hospital. I’m gonna go find the fucker who tore off without stopping.”
I run back to my bike, right it, climb on, then scream up the street. I weave in and out of the cars. Some honk, but I’m focused.
The traffic opens up, and I’m losing whoever drove that truck. Revving the engine hard, I scan ahead, down every side street in case he peeled off. When I finally see him, I stay far enough back that I hope he doesn’t see me. I follow him to a parking lot in Matawan where he pulls into a bay. I’m about to get off my bike and confront the fucker when the lights flash on the Audi parked next to him. Still holding a key fob, the guy jumps from the truck to the car.
And this just got fucking interesting.
This wasn’t an accident.
It was deliberate.
I type both license plates into my phone. Finally, the fucker looks up. Realizes I’m sitting, blocking the exit to the lot.
You can tell so much about a guy from his body language.
This guy isn’t scared.
He should be. His days are numbered.