Midnight Oath (Tasarov Bratva 1)

“I can’t drive that.”

Emery is standing in the doorway of the garage bay, looking far too good in a printed summer dress.

“It’s a car,” I answer impatiently.

“A sports car,” she corrects. “When people don’t know how to ride a horse, you start them with a pony, not a stallion. I can’t drive that.”

“Get in.”

“There’s gotta be another way.”

“Get in or we’re going inside,” I snap. “I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours, and I don’t have the time or patience to waste on temper tantrums.”

She stands on the threshold and wavers. Then, with a grimace, she steps inside the garage. “If I kill you,” she warns, “you can’t be mad at me.”

“I’ll be dead, so that won’t be a problem.”

She snorts. “Yeah, right. You’d be a vengeful spirit, for sure. You’d come back and haunt me.”

I dangle the keys in front of her. “Better be careful, then. Or you’ll never be rid of me.”

Emery takes the keys from me with trembling fingers, then climbs into the driver’s seat with wide eyes. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Under my breath, I mutter, “That makes two of us.”

I get into the passenger seat and pull the door closed. It’s almost silent in the car, nothing but the sound of our mingled breathing. Her scent fills my nose, the faintest hints of strawberry and vanilla. Like a fucking drug.

I shake the thought aside and point at the ignition. “Keys go there.”

She gives me the middle finger, then slides the key into the ignition and turns. She jolts when the engine roars to life. “Holy shit.”

“Hands on the wheel. Tap the pedal on the right with your foot.”

She does, and the engine lets out a vicious growl. Emery’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

“That’s the gas,” I say. “Hit that when you want to go. Now, tap the left.”

She taps the brake and the car rocks ever-so-slightly.

“That’s the brake. Hit that when you want to—”

“If you explain to me what ‘braking’ means, I’ll run you over.”

“Do you want to learn or not?” I snap. I’m so damn tired I can barely see straight. I don’t have the tolerance for her bullshit right now.

Emery grumbles, but nods.

“That’s the gearshift. Those are the mirrors. There’s the exit. Let’s go.”

Her fingers are shaking like crazy, but she manages to work the car into drive and pull us out of the parking bay. It’s stop and start, jolting every few feet while she tests the pliancy of the brakes and gas. But by the time we reach the open mouth of the garage, she’s begun to smooth out.

“This isn’t so bad,” she says with a shy grin.

She’s smiling in my vicinity—that’s rare. I’m used to either rage or tears.

What’s even more strange is what that simple smile does to me. Makes my chest clench and unclench in the strangest way.

Probably means nothing.

“We’re still in the driveway, and I could walk faster than this,” I scowl.

Her smile falls. “Do you have to ruin everything?”

“I’m preparing you for what’s coming next.”

“Ever considered living in the moment?” She chances a look over at me, and then quickly back through the windshield. “Maybe you could just enjoy things every so often without getting paranoid about the future.”

“And maybe everyone could give all their money away to charity and we could all hold hands and sing fucking kumbaya.”

Emery is scowling at me when the car veers and destroys a hedge lining the drive. I reach over to grab the wheel and direct her back to safer ground. “Pay attention before you kill us.”

“You’re distracting me!” she snaps. “I can’t focus with you… sitting there.”

“What a pity. Learn.”

She frowns. “Your bedside manner sucks, you know.”

We’ve reached the main road. It’s dark and vacant in all directions. I lean across the seats towards Emery and whisper in her ear, “You didn’t seem to have any problems with my bedside manner last night.”

She stiffens immediately. “Get off of me! You’re going to get us both killed.”

“Distractions are part of it, Emery. You think you’re going down the straight and narrow, a middle of the road kind of life. But then something… something tempting… snares your attention and makes you reconsider.”

I drag a finger down the curve of her neck. Goosebumps erupt in its wake.

“This is not funny.”

“It’s not a joke. It’s a lesson.” I drop my hand to her bare leg, inching my fingers inward to the warmth between her thighs.

“Adrik, seriously, stop.”

“Keep driving the car,” I order.

The road is empty and broad. Not a soul in sight. We pick up speed slowly, slowly, as the engine whines and Emery whimpers beneath my touch.

“I mean it. Stop.”

“Easy,” I croon, ignoring her. I smooth my finger along the inside of her leg. “Gentle. You want to ease the car faster, let the speed rev and rev. Tease the pedal before you commit. Give it time to get hot.”

Emery’s face is flushed. Her breathing is coming, labored and heavy.

Suddenly, she slams on the brake. She looks over at me with wild, fierce eyes. “I’m not a fucking toy, Adrik. Certainly not your toy.”

“No? Could’ve fooled me.”

She bites at her lip like she’s weighing something. Then, to my surprise, she slams the gas so hard that I’m pressed back into the leather seat.

“Slow down,” I instruct.

“No.”

The engine is a growling menace as we soar down the road. Faster and faster. I feel my adrenaline start to pump, the thrill of speed.

But I’m not in control.

And that’s a fucking problem.

“Throw a tantrum if you must, but don’t fuck up my car in the process.”

“You have enough money to buy another one. Besides, there’s no one around. And even if we did get pulled over, it’s not like any cop would be stupid enough to arrest you, would they?”

“Probably not. But you aren’t me.”

She presses harder on the gas. The speedometer needle inches towards eighty, eighty-five, ninety. “You mean you wouldn’t bail your wife out of jail?”

“You aren’t my wife.”

“You fucked me like your wife.”

“No, I fucked you like a whore,” I growl. “I’m not surprised you don’t know the difference.”

Hurt flickers across her face, but it’s gone in the next second. The speedometer passes one hundred. One ten.

Up ahead, I see the red reflection of a stop sign, but Emery isn’t showing any signs of slowing down.

“Stop sign.”

She shrugs. “You don’t know what the word ‘stop’ means, so why should I?”

“You’re going to get us both killed.”

“I told you that was a possibility,” she reminds me viciously, blowing right through the stop sign. “What’s the matter—are you afraid?”

Her face is flat, strangely expressionless. But there’s something sparking in her eyes. Something I recognize instantly.

Power.

The glint in the eye that comes with claiming control over someone else. The rush of holding fate in your own two hands.

It makes her very fucking dangerous.

“Stop the goddamn car, Emery.”

“Make me,” she says, her mouth twisting into a smile.

Her back is straight, her chest lifted and proud. The flush has crept from her cheeks down to her collarbone. Like she’s burning up from the inside out.

We crest a hill, and I can see that the road comes to a “T” up ahead. Beyond that is a thick line of oaks. If Emery doesn’t slow down, we’re going to end up twisted around them.

“If I don’t make you stop, the trees will. You’re going to crush us both. Is that what you want?”

Images flash in my mind’s eye.

A mangled car.

A shattered windshield.

Pain like I’ve never felt before or since.