Part III - Russian Roulette

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Theme song: Don't Blame Me by Taylor Swift

A/N: Unlike previous parts, there are no YouTube clips for this part — the movie skips over whatever happens between the car chase scene and Ethan and Nyah waking up in bed together the following evening, so I took Harper and Drake's lead to fill the time gap.

A/N: Unlike previous parts, there are no YouTube clips for this part — the movie skips over whatever happens between the car chase scene and Ethan and Nyah waking up in bed together the following evening, so I took Harper and Drake's lead to fill ...

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"I haven't...forgiven you," I gasp against his lips, even as I find myself yielding to the direction of his hands.

"This ain't an apology," he replies, tipping my head to the side so he can coast his tongue down my jaw.

My eyes shudder shut as the scrape of his stubble across the sensitive skin of my throat leaves me breathless.

Damn, he's an arrogant ass...

But I can't deny that I want to fuck him.

Whether it's because of my oh-so-close brush death... or because I'm still pissed at him and I need an outlet for the messy cocktail of emotions burning inside of me... or some kind of twisted combination of the two, the end result is the same. My brain is a mess and my body is on fire.

Which means I need to break this off now, before things become dangerously complicated between us.

"Good," I tell him, pulling abruptly away. "We're on the same page, then."

His eyes widen as I grab onto his shoulders to swing myself off his lap. "The hell—?"

"Nice knowing you, Walker," I throw over my shoulder as I shunt myself across to the other side of the car.

He grabs my wrist. "You said you'd listen."

"No," I correct. "I didn't."

He cusses under his breath as I twist away. "Look, will you just hold on, for one second, and—?"

"And what?" I interject testily, hoisting myself up onto the doorframe. "Give you yet another chance to con me? No thanks."

"You wanna be mad at me?" he grits. "Fine. Be mad. But don't pretend that's a good reason to walk away."

"Funny," I snark, swinging my legs into the Porsche. "It's working surprisingly well for me so far."

"Until you find yourself backed into a corner..."

I freeze mid-motion.

"You're on Interpol's wanted list," he reminds me. "And that kind of heat is hard to shake. Even if you decide to lie low for a while, or full-on retire, you're not getting a free pass. Not without help, anyway."

"Why should I believe you?" I snap through gritted teeth, hating the indecision raging inside of me.

"Honestly? 'Cause you ain't got a choice," he huffs. "And I know you got no reason to trust me right now. Hell, I wouldn't trust me either. But I'm in a bind, and my offer's legit. So, as far as get-out-of-jail-free cards go, you'll be hard-pressed to find a better one."

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