The interior of Luka's SUV smelled like leather, pine air freshener, and what I could only describe as "impending doom."
We'd been driving for exactly five minutes and thirty-seven seconds. I knew this because I'd been counting every excruciating tick of the dashboard clock, using the mental exercise to distract myself from the fact that my adoptive father had just witnessed his daughter making out with me like we were starring in a rated-R movie.
Luka's hands gripped the steering wheel at ten and two. His knuckles had gone white about three minutes ago and hadn't recovered since. Every few seconds, a muscle in his jaw would twitch, and I'd watch it pulse like a seismograph detecting an approaching earthquake.
Kimiko sat in the passenger seat, her posture rigid, her gaze fixed on the passing highway lights with the intensity of someone trying to achieve enlightenment through sheer willpower.
And Natalia?
Natalia had decided that personal space was a concept invented by cowards.
