Chapter 20 · CC: The Commissioner

"Your pulse is doing that thing again." Milo didn't look at me. His hand stayed locked over mine on the crank, knuckles white, both of us leaning into a wheel that hadn't moved in six minutes. "Right here." He tapped two fingers against the side of my throat, not gentle, just proving a point. "Jumping like a rabbit."

"Get your hand off my neck."

"Make me." He didn't move it. If anything he pressed in, thumb finding the tendon, and I felt my own breath catch before I could stop it. That's the problem with a failed suppressant patch in a sealed steel box — you stop being able to lie to the guy standing eight inches from your collarbone.

"You smell like a struck match," he said. "You know that? Not bad. Just — loud."

"Focus on the crank, Drake."

"I am focused." He wrenched it another quarter inch and it screamed metal-on-metal and stopped dead again, same as the last four times. Bone of his shoulder cracked into mine when it seized, and neither of us gave the half step back that would've made it comfortable.