I bite back my grin and wait for her to explode.
She drops the bag and looks up at me with crazed eyes. “You’ll kill it if you do that!”
Bingo.
Yes, Princess, I very painfully remember the YouTube phase you went through. I had to sit and watch hours of egg-hatching and snake breeding videos. Weirdo. I’m practically traumatized—but I still didn’t hesitate to get the Mojave ball python tattooed on my wrist.
Christ. The things I’d do for this girl.
And to this girl.
Note to self: Once we pull over, Google how long she needs to recover so we can go another round or two.
“The book also said that if you see mold growing, run it under hot water and use a toothbrush to clean it.” I’m trying so hard to hide my grin, but damn it, I’m failing. She’s just too easy to rile up.
Over hypothetical snake eggs, of all things.
“Mickey!” she gasps, like I killed a dog or something. I’m not sure why she’s acting like either of us will be breeding or raising a clutch of snake eggs anytime in the foreseeable future, but I guess she’s preparing for the unlikely event it does happen. “No! You can’t do that. You’ll damage the shell and risk hurting the snake. You could kill it,” she says with haunted eyes. “You have to sprinkle antifungal powder to try to save the egg.”
So much passion in such a little body.
I pinch her cheek, and she slaps my hand away—as expected. So I send her a wink. “I’m just egging you on. No baby snakes are being harmed. Promise.”
“Snakelet. Not ‘baby snake.’” She scoffs, doing a cute nose scrunch. “It’s like saying baby dog instead of puppy.”
Out of everyone, I find Bella the easiest to read. Glaring and nose scrunching usually means she’s angry. Red cheeks and fluttering lashes mean she’s feeling flustered. Who knows what the fuck the rest means. She usually gives me a piece of her mind and fills in the blanks for me.
My phone buzzes for what has to be the tenth time in the past half hour. I check the GPS and slow down to a stop in front of a block of decrepit apartments.
Damien sticks out like a sore thumb in this shitty neighborhood, leaning against his bike like an A-class predator. I’d say we’re pretty equal on the hunter scale, but at this moment, I’m envious of the prick; I want to feel the wind around me as I ride my goddamn bike.
But, I gave it up for Bella.
I’m driving a 2006 Toyota pickup instead of the other love of my life, my BMW GS.
“Why are we here?” the main love of my life asks.
“To get IDs.”
She stares at me, mouth ajar. “This was the surprise? You seriously couldn’t have told me this last night.”
I shrug, grabbing my gun from the glove compartment. “It didn’t seem like a big deal.”
“Are you kidding me? We’re on the run because someone almost murdered me, then you started driving us to God knows where at night, and you didn’t think telling me where we were going was important?”I pause with my hand on the door, glaring at her because the reminder of the fucker holding a gun to her head sets me off. I should have kept stabbing him, or beaten his sorry ass up before he died.
“Sorry. Well, now you know.” I’m out of the car before she can blow up. Unless I cool my shit, we’ll probably have another murder on my hands.
I still. Wait, I was meant to Google something. Shit, what was it? I remember it’s something really important. I narrow my eyes at Bella, hoping she’ll inspire my memory.
Oh, that’s right.
I pull my phone out and type my question into the search bar. Pursing my lips, I tip my head from side to side. Three to four days until she’s recovered. I can live with that.
Barely.
Bella doesn’t waste time running to me, darting her watchful gaze up and down the street until she settles on Damien. Other than him, the only people around are the kids biking and playing farther up the street.
Rico’s brother nods at me. It’s a good thing Damien looks nothing like his annoying ass brother. Different mothers or something like that.
Damien’s all slicked-back hair and dead eyes. Whereas Rico’s got a buzz cut, and he’s like a dog that doesn’t know how to shut the fuck up.
I stand up straighter when Bella grabs onto me, leaving no more than a foot between us.
“Who is that?” she whispers under her breath.
“An acquaintance.” I’m sure as shit not about to call him a friend. I doubt he’d call me anything other than a person he knows. But I’ve got to admit that I still trust Damien more than his punk of a brother.