30. Not So Criminal Friends

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Nicky's POV 

Ryder's distracting.

In so many more ways than one.

If I were to actually admit that to him though, he'd use it against me. More than he already is.

We've been driving on a two-lane road with the occasional passing car, but for the most part, we've been completely alone on the road. Not many people appear to drive through here. Actually, hardly any people appear to drive through here.

So far though, I can't complain too much. He hasn't been that distracting. Of course, I wasn't expecting the kind of annoying distracting he's currently being.

It's like driving with a toddler.

We made a pit stop at a gas station and Ryder had announced he wanted to get some snacks. Fine by me. Of course, I was expecting the snacks to be eaten. I wasn't expecting to be wearing them.

But apparently, eating snacks like a normal human being is too much work for him. Throwing them at me while I'm driving is obviously so much easier. And so mature. Obviously.

And dumping water all over my lap to make it look like I peed myself is really mature as well.

How old is he? Five?

I swear, if he wasn't attractive, someone would've killed him by now.

That someone being me.

Of course, I've never actually killed anyone, but there's a first time for everything. And he seems to excel at bringing out the worst in me.

I shoot him a glare and notice he's looking at me strangely. Intently.

"What?" I question.

"Tell me about yourself," He says. Though, the way he says it makes it sound like a demand.

I give him a bewildered look before putting my attention back on the road. "Excuse me?"

"Tell me about Nicolette Moore." When he says my name, he spreads his hands out dramatically, like there's some kind of invisible banner only he can see.

I shoot him a look. "What exactly do you want to know? I'm sure you've read my entire life story in the file you have."

"Yeah," He says absently and I can feel his stare burning a hole in the side of my head. "But I want to hear it from you."

I debate not answering. I mean, he does have the information already. Well, besides the whole thing with Volkov. So really, there isn't much to tell.

"Why right now?" I ask him instead.

"Why not?" He questions. "We're driving for God knows how many hours. I'm going to be bringing it up again, so why not now? Humor me."

I blow out a sigh. "I was born in France," I start quietly. "I was raised by my parents until I was eight years old. They died in a car crash shortly after my eighth birthday. Drunk driver hit them."

Ryder's gaze never leaves my face as I talk. He doesn't say anything, but I can tell he's listening intently to what I'm saying.

I shrug as I keep my eyes on the road in front of me, not looking at Ryder. "I don't really remember them all that well," I tell him. "Not anymore at least, but I know they loved me."

"I'm sorry," Ryder whispers quietly.

I shrug again. "I came to peace with it a long time ago." I drum my fingers along the steering wheel. "I was put into an orphanage and a couple weeks later there was a couple from America that wanted to adopt me. They were nice enough. Nothing wrong with them, but I had just lost my parents and wasn't really keen on replacing them.

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