** Short one, but I'm posting the next oen up right away.. **
“Lila. Lila! Come on, open your eyes,” a distant voice pleads, shaking me violently.
“Five more minutes mum,” I mutter, trying to roll over only to find that I can’t. I’m suddenly aware of my sitting position and a seat belt tight across my chest. Shayne lets out a panicked laugh.
“Idiot,” he says fondly, cutting through my belt and pulling me out of the car.
“What happened?” I ask, absently gazing at the residents surrounding us.
“You drove us into a tree,” he says casually.
“Whoops.”
“Crap, you’re bleeding.” He looks around him desperately, and then takes his shirt off, holding it to my forehead.
“Thanks,” I murmur, gazing at his bare, tanned chest.
“Seriously? You could die from blood loss and you’re staring at my chest?” he asks, looking down at me in amazement.
“It’s a nice chest,” I mutter. What the Hell is wrong with me? I must be bloody crazy! You can’t just go around telling people things like that.
He chuckles. “Thank you. Yours isn’t too bad either.” Despite the awful situation I’m in, I still seem to manage blushing.
“Thanks,” I whisper, before drifting back into unconsciousness.
“No you don’t,” Shayne says, shaking me hard.
“Cut it out,” I snap, fully awake again.
“You can’t sleep, you hit your head,” he tells me gently.
“She hit my bloody tree!” An old, grey-haired man complains, stomping his foot. Shayne drops my head abruptly.
“My girlfriend could die right here! And you care about your ‘bloody tree’?” He yells.
“Who in God’s name do you think you are, young man!?” The guy screams back.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Shayne smirk. “Shayne Benedict, MI6,” he says, flashing his badge.
“They let any old riff raff in these days, then?” The man mumbles.
“Don’t make me use my cuffs,” he warns. The man continues sighing and complaining, but backs off anyway.
“That was fun too,” Shayne says quietly, resting my head on his lap.
“Crashing into a tree wasn’t a part of this plan,” I tell him.
“It’s okay. Who was on the phone?”
“Dunno. Computerised voice.”
He looks shocked. “What did it say?”
“I forgot,” I admit, racking my brains. “I think I have something he wants.”
“How can you tell it was a guy?”
“I don’t know, I just can!” I snap.
“Alright, calm down. Give me your phone,” he says, taking my phone and calling the number that just called me. The call lasts for several minutes, and there’s a lot of ‘mhmm’s and ‘uh huh’s before… “No, I will not tell you my name you bloody creep!” And he snaps the phone shut.
“How did that work out for you?” I ask.
“His little voice computer didn’t work too well this time,” he says slowly.
“Did you recognise the voice?”
“Oh yeah. That was Mr Hunter.” My form tutor. I have no idea what’s going on.
“It’s been a long day already,” Shayne tells me. “Maybe we should both get some rest.”
