Page 70 of Quarter Miles (Runaway 3)

His smirk stretched as he sauntered my way, arrogance rolling over his shoulders. Swear to God, if she’d taken a job in the last hour while I’d been packing and searching for her, I’d . . .

Deal. I’d deal with it.

We’d do whatever she needed to do, even if that meant working for a man like Gallaway.

“I believe she left with Aria. Something about a road trip.”

Fuck my life. “Thanks.” The word tasted bitter. “If I asked, would you give me Aria’s number?”

“Are you asking?”

“Yes.” Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him.

He stared at me, cold and calculating. I expected the asshole to turn and walk away without another word, but I stood tall, patient, because he wasn’t the only powerful man in the room. Maybe I didn’t show it. I didn’t need to wear an Italian suit or four-thousand-dollar watch.

But I wasn’t backing down.

Kat was mine.

He could try to steal her and he’d lose.

She’d been mine for a long time, even when I hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself.

Kat had said something on the trip, during our first fight. Why do you let people decide how your life is going to go? God, she’d pissed me off.

She was wrong about people pushing me into a certain job. I’d always gone willingly. Except maybe that statement wasn’t entirely wrong, she’d just pegged the wrong target.

My family’s influence over my relationship with Kat was stronger than I’d let myself recognize. They’d dictated that she be a family member. I’d followed their lead.

But Kat wasn’t only my friend. She wasn’t only my best friend.

She was mine.

She’d been mine since the day a young stallion had bucked me off into a fence and I’d gotten a concussion. She’d crept into my room every two hours that night, waking me as the doctor had instructed to make sure I was okay.

She’d been mine since the night she’d gotten so drunk at a bonfire party that she’d decided my bed was more comfortable than hers and had crawled in next to me, snoring so loud I’d heard it down the hallway from the living room where I’d slept on the couch.

She’d been mine since day one.

And whether Mark Gallaway gave me Aria’s phone number or not, I’d find her. I’d search every highway in the country until I tracked her down.

Mark’s eyes narrowed as I held his gaze. I stood steady and strong until, finally, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a phone, scrolling through before rattling off Aria’s number.

“Did you need me to write it down?” he asked.

“No.” I mentally repeated it once. Twice. Then it was there. “Appreciated.”

He gave me a nod, then turned again. I didn’t wait for him to disappear. I went back to my spot at the desk, took out my phone and let my fingers fly across the screen as I called Aria’s number.

It rang three times before it clicked to voicemail. “Aria, this is Cash Greer. I’m looking for Kat. Please have her call me.”

I ended that call and dialed Kat’s again. It went straight to voicemail. “Kat. Please. Let’s talk about this. Please call me back.” I sent the same in a text, sending it off just as the clerk returned.

“I’m sorry for the delay, sir.”

“That’s fine,” I lied.

“It looks like that car is no longer in valet.”