Page 15 of Craving Sin

“You’ve been shot,” comes out of my mouth first, though.

“No shit. You must be really good at your job. I have no idea how you figured that out. Get in the fucking SUV.”

It’s the absolute last thing I want to do, but with a gun pointed at me, I don’t have a choice.

“Climb over to the driver’s seat.” I take a quick glance around, looking for something—someone—but the lot is quiet. Did he shoot one of the men? If so, where is he?

I shake my head. “We don’t need to go anywhere right now other than in the hospital to get you checked out by a doctor…and to call the cops.”

“No cops, and why do I need a doctor when I have one right here?”

I clench my jaw. “You can’t…you don’t…I’m not.”

“Get in the fucking SUV with me, Doc. Now.” He grabs me by the shirt and pushes me inside.

I do as he says, moving to the driver’s side. My stalker is right behind me.

“Did you kill any of those guys?” I have no idea why I need to know, but he has a gun, and there was shooting happening.

“I hope so. I shot him, but the coward got pulled back into the car before they took off. If he doesn’t die now, he will soon.”

I gulp at that, not doubting for a moment that what he says is true.

“You hope so?” And if they’re not dead, they will be. “You’re a murderer.”

“Just drive and get us the fuck out of here,” he says, ignoring what I said.

I open my mouth to reply, but then he points the gun, so with a sigh, I start the vehicle and then back out.

Jesus…this man just possibly killed someone—someone who was trying to kill him, but still. I’m in the car with a murderer going God-knows-where, and I don’t even hear any sirens. Didn’t anyone hear the gunshots? Shouldn’t the police be coming?

“Go right,” he says when I pull out of the hospital lot.

Clearly, that conversation is over. “Where are you taking me?” I ask.

“Don’t think about doing something stupid.” He reaches into my center console, where I have a second work badge. “Doctor Abbott.”

“Do you know who my father is?” It’s the last thing I want to use, the last thing I want to say, but really, what choice do I have? If using my asshole father to get me out of this situation is the only card I have, I’ll play it.

“No, but I assume you’re going to tell me, and you think it will change something.” He takes off his suit jacket, trying to tie it around the bullet wound in his arm.

“You’re not going to be able to do that by yourself.”

“Shut up and drive,” he counters.

Okay, so he doesn’t care, so I go back to my previous discussion. “My name is Preston Abbott.” I’m sure my first name will add some context.

He turns his head slowly, looking at me. I see when recognition hits his green eyes. They’re really vivid in color, almost like an emerald green. It’s a contrast to his thick, dark lashes and dark hair. “The fucking governor’s son?” he asks before laughing. “Because of course you are.”

Of course I’m the governor’s son? “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” He rubs the back of his neck with his good hand, gun on his lap.

“You should really let me check your wound,” I say. “I have a medical bag in the back with some supplies.”

“Get on Interstate 93 North,” he instructs, before placing his hand on the gun again. I take that as the warning I’m sure it is.

Without much choice, I do as he says, while trying to figure out how this can end well for me.