Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
“I thought you liked this car—”
“Get out.” He released the locks and glared across the seats. “I’m done with this tortured loner bullshit of yours. Rahvyn is not coming back to you. She was mated thirty fucking years ago, okay? And she was never yours to begin with. Grow up and get over it.”
The change in the other male’s stare was split-second, and Shuli couldn’t believe the depth of hatred shooting out of his best friend’s eyes.
Not that they had been friends for years. Jesus, and he was accusing the guy of not getting over something? He needed to take his own fucking advice.
With profound, but stupid, sadness, Shuli said roughly, “You’ve lost the plot, man. And I’m done trying to keep you tethered to the planet—”
Flashing blue lights strobed the interior, picking out the hard angles of Nate’s face. He was leaned out on account of refusing to feed from anything but the artificial stuff his adoptive human mother had engineered in that lab of hers—and also maybe because he didn’t want to concede to anything soft at all.
Probably shit barbed bricks into the toilet bowl.
“Fucking wonderful,” Shuli muttered as he looked into the rear view mirror.
“You were the one who decided to park in the middle of the road.”
“Fuck you.”
In the side view mirror, the cop-bot striding down the flank of the Tesla was one of the new models with the animatronic faces. Shuli didn’t know enough about computers to begin to guess at the technology required to project expressions that were non-threatening through plastic skin and a composite metal skull. What he was clear on was that he missed the good ol’ days when patrol officers had minds you could manipulate at will.
He put his window down. “Sorry, Officer, my car lost power. It’s back on now—”
“Greetings. I am Officer 9017 of the Caldwell Police Department. May I please see your—”
“The car just malfunctioned.” Shuli pointed to the screen. “But the glitch in the system’s fixed itself, so I’ll be on my way—”
“Your license and registration, please.”
Even though it was January, the thing was in a navy blue, all-season uniform, with long sleeves but no jacket. They even put wigs on the fuckers, some curly black hair buffering around the base of the CPD-branded cap.
“I’m telling you, Officer, it’s cool. I’m just minding my business here.”
“I am programmed to remind you that under the Civil Law Code, section one-four-nine-five, paragraphs one and two, all drivers operating a vehicle within the Caldwell city limits are required—”
The gun entered the periphery of Shuli’s vision from over on his right—and the muzzle was pointed at him, at the meat of his pecs. Not the nuts-and-bolts of law enforcement.
“What the fuck are you doing,” he said in a low voice to Nate.
As their eyes met, he held his breath as he recognized nothing of the male he had once known in the face and stare of the guy sitting in his passenger seat. Then the muzzle shifted a quarter of an inch to the right. The trigger was pulled, and a bullet narrowly passed by his sternum and plowed into the cop-bot officer, blowing him off of his boots.
“Oh, fucking hell,” Shuli spat. “Are you even kidding me!”
As the patrol car’s alarm started blaring, he punched the accelerator, and the Tesla went plaid and then some toward the next intersection. Plowing south through a red light, he played dodge ’em car with the traffic flowing east to west, his ten-and-two death grips wrenching the steering wheel hard left, harder right, less left, really right—
It dawned on him that, with Nate still sitting like a fucking statue in his goddamn passenger seat, he was taking the problem with him.
And that was his last thought before he overcorrected, hit a curb, and flipped his fucking car over.
CHAPTER THREE
No. Just no. I mean, really?”
Nalla, blooded daughter of the Black Dagger Brother Zsadist, son of Ahgony, hated to draw the hard line, especially with someone like her best friend. But as she shifted her eyes to the mirror over her bathroom sink, she was too tired to argue while she wiped the condensation off with the heel of her hand. It had been draining to sneak in and avoid her mahmen. But what choice did she have? The subterfuge was better than having one of their usual stilted conversations.
Out in her bedroom proper, Bitty, adopted daughter of the Brother Rhage, lost her hey-I’ve-got-an-idea optimism. The female was sitting on the messy bed, leaning back against the padded headboard, her vintage Baskin-Robbins sweatshirt and well-washed jeans the sartorial opposite of what she was proposing.
“But it could be fun,” she said.
Yeah, sure. If they were two different people. Or going to a different place. With different people.
Nalla tightened the tuck on the towel she’d wrapped herself in. Then she turned around and frowned through the open doorway. “Hey, did you color your hair?”