Disclaimer: I own nothing but the original plot points. No copyright infringement intended.

.

.

"All right, mopey, what the fuck's wrong with you?"

I'd been so numb, my mind shrouded in such a dense fog since Edward left, I almost didn't register the voice or the nudge to my shoulder as I stared at the bonfire and the tiny, glowing sparks that swirled and drifted into the inky night sky. However, the odds of this particular person ever speaking directly to me were so slim, the shock of it actually happening was enough to get my attention and I turned to take a look.

Yep, no mistake, he was speaking to me all right, and as the moments ticked by, his brows inched up, making it clear he expected a response.

So I gave him one; the only one that occurred to me in the shock of the moment. "What do you care?"

He raised a shirtless shoulder in a careless shrug as the fire-light danced in tones of gold and shadow on his smooth, firm skin. Then I watched as the muscles of his bicep flexed when he lifted the amber bottle of beer to his mouth. Seemed he was taking his time to come up with an answer.

'Damn…those lips… Wonder if they'd feel as soft as they look?'

The random thought wandered through my addled brain as I continued to watch him, and caught me off guard. Yeah, sure, he was hot. Looking at him now — really seeing him for the first time — even I had to admit as much. But he was also a world-class douchebag, so until this very moment, I'd never given him so much as a second look or thought. And until now, aside from sniping nasty comments about me from a distance, he'd always seemed happy to avoid me too.

'What a waste… If only he'd keep his mouth shut…'

He rested his forearm on his jean-clad thigh, the bottle of beer now hanging loosely from long, lithe fingers as he muttered, "I dunno that I do care, leech-lover. Call it curiosity, I guess." Then he turned his head and his eyes — a mesmerizing mix of hazel flecked with amber — locked with mine. It was the first time our eyes had ever met, and I didn't know what he was feeling, but for me, it felt as though I was caught by a force greater than either one of us. I simply couldn't look away.

I heard my breath hitch and saw his nostrils flare, the look in his eyes intense, the emotions in them warring between passion and disbelief.

"I - I don't — what is…" I stuttered, suddenly feeling strange and desperate and fulfilled? without having the first clue as to why.

His brows finally gathered in a deep frown and he hissed a quiet "Motherfucker…"

He stood then, and grabbed my arm, his grasp surprisingly gentle as he urged me to my feet. "Come on," he muttered lowly, "we need to talk."

My gaze darted to Jake where he stood talking and laughing with Sam, Embry, and Quil about thirty feet away, by the drink coolers. I could have called out to him, but he looked so carefree and it'd been so long since he'd looked that way… I couldn't bring myself to spoil it. Not just yet. Not unless I had to; and for some strange reason, I didn't feel the need. I didn't feel threatened.

So I followed, nearly having to jog to keep up with his long strides as he led the way up the sandy, rock-strewn path to the parking lot on the ridge above. As we passed a bin, he tossed his beer bottle and continued on until we reached what I could only guess was his truck.

Although obviously not new, it was a surprisingly well-kept, glossy red, late-model Dodge crew-cab. The alarm chirped as he pressed the key fob, the headlights flashing in two quick pulses as the door-locks released. Then he opened the passenger side and held it wide with a muttered, "Get in."

As I shrugged my blanket up on my shoulders, I finally snapped out of my stupor enough to glare at him. "First of all, you haven't told me why we need to talk. Secondly, I can't just leave. I came here with Jake!"

He rolled his eyes, plucked a phone from his jeans pocket and made a call. "Black, the lee— Swan's with me. I'll bring her back in a few. No, for fuck's sake, there's no problem, we're just talking." He sighed and tipped his head back, looking put out by whatever Jake was saying. "Sure…whatever…see ya," he ended in a monotone.

He arched a brow and gave me a pointed look as he tucked the phone back in his pocket. "Now will you get in?"

I narrowed my eyes because that seemed a little too easy. Jake hadn't been letting me out of his sight lately. "What'd he say?"

His tone was bored as he answered, "He said if I hurt you, he'd kick my fuckin' ass. Happy?"

"Marginally," I grumbled while trying to haul myself into the lifted truck while keeping hold on my blanket. Sometimes it really sucked being short.

As I struggled, I heard a snicker and felt his warm hands on my waist as he boosted me into the seat.

With a scowl, I settled in as he walked around, slid into the driver's seat, and closed his door.

"Where we going?" I asked, my tone wary.

He turned on the stereo, pushed in a Foo Fighters CD, turned the volume to low, and leaned back in his seat. "Nowhere, I just figured this would be more comfortable and private than where we were."

I felt my eyes narrow as I looked at him. "You hate me, so why the sudden interest? Why on earth would the two of us need privacy?"

Instead of answering, he leaned forward, reached into a small cooler on the floorboard, and took out a bottle of water. "Want one?"

"Sure."

He handed it to me and took out one for himself, not bothering to answer me until he'd taken a drink and placed the bottle in the console. "I don't hate you, not really." He glanced at me, undoubtedly noting my arched brow and the 'I call bullshit' expression presently adorning my features.

"True," he conceded with a flip of his hand, "I can't say I liked you… If ya want the honest truth, I was fuckin' disgusted by you. Just the thought of you gettin' all up in it with a walking, talking, putrid corpse … fuck," he said with a full-body shudder and a curled lip. "How could you do something like that? I mean, fucker's been dead for how long?" He snorted. "Sorry babe, but that shit blows right by any definition of kink and straight into sicko territory."

I blinked.

It had been quite a while since I'd really felt anything emotionally, including anger, but at this moment? At this moment I knew exactly what I was feeling.

Pissed off.

With an icy calm, I placed my bottle of water in the cup holder, then looked at him. "Is this what you dragged me away to talk about, Lahote?" I hissed. "All your little verbal jabs and the shitty names you call me every chance you get aren't enough for you anymore? Feeling the need, for some reason, to make it more up close and personal now?" The volume of my voice had risen with every word I spoke until the last was almost a shout. Then, before he could speak a word, the flat of my palm connected with his cheek with a sharp crack. "Well, screw you, you monumental prick!"

While steadfastly ignoring my throbbing hand, I scrambled for the door lock and then the handle, but before I could get my door open, he wound an arm around me and pulled me back toward him. I took another swing at him but he caught my wrist, and it took a couple seconds for me to register the grin on his face. Then he was laughing with his inky, perfect brows raised. "Do you always ask questions without any intention of waiting for an answer?" He turned me loose and muttered, "Damn, girl, and people say I have a temper."

In the low light from the dash, I could see my hand-print on his dimpled cheek, and he still had a maddening smirk on his face. "Fine," I growled, "I'll hear you out, but keep in mind Jake'll kick your ass if I ask him to."

He picked up his water and leaned back with a chuckle. "He can try, baby-cakes… But fine," he continued when I glared, "I get it, no more cheap shots about your love of corpses."

I shot him my best death glare. "They aren't corpses and besides, they're gone. They're in the past, so leave them there."

He dipped his head. "Fine."

"Okay."

He scoffed. "Okay."

I snatched my bottle of water up, wrenched the top off and took a drink, then placed it back in the holder and looked at him. "Think you can get to the point now? I'm waiting."

With renewed frustration, he raked both hands through his hair, then laced his fingers together at the back of his neck with a groan as he quietly hissed, "Fuck, how do I say this…?" His arms dropped and he clutched the wheel with both hands as he stared out the windshield, seeming to steel himself. "Okay," he finally gusted out on a heavy breath, "there's just no easy way to say this, so I'm just gonna go balls out. I…Swan, I—" He tipped his head back with a low growl as he ground out his next words, "I imprinted on you." He turned to look at me. "Back there, at the bonfire when our eyes met? I … imprinted." Now he looked almost vulnerable as he asked, "You know what that means, right?"

An icy sensation rushed through my body as words failed me.

First a vampire swears I'm his mate, promises eternal love, then dumps me, and now this…?!

I felt detached, disconnected, numb.

Shock…

This must be shock.

It must've been, because I could not hold back the insane laugh that bubbled up, for anything, as much as I wanted to.

It started out slow; a disbelieving, hysterical cackle which quickly escalated into tear-inducing, shoulder-shaking, abdominal-straining, unhinged laughter that I could barely breathe through, much less get any words past.

And when, after a few moments of this insanity, I chanced a glance at him, the gaping, affronted look on his face didn't help my situation — at all. I was nearly choking with laughter as I bent at the waist, one hand braced on the dash and the other clutching my stomach.

It was irrational, and inappropriate, and painful ... but I couldn't stop.

Then he scowled and growled, "What … the … fuck…" after a couple minutes of this.

At that, I squealed with more rib-aching laughter and wiped tears from my eyes, trying desperately to get some measure of control. "Sorry, sorry…" I wheezed when the choking, irrational waves of mirth began to slow enough for me to speak, "Oh god, I know I shouldn't…" Another wave hit and I bent over my lap again, my whole body shaking with silent, gut-cramping peals of laughter.

"Great … just fuckin' great," I heard him grumble. "I share with you the single most profound, mind-fucking event in my life — aside from exploding into a giant wolf — and you laugh?" I heard the hurt in his voice and tried like hell to sober up. I knew my reaction wasn't rational at all, and that even though he was a major asshole to me 99% of the time, he didn't deserve to be hurt this way…

I truly felt bad so I was trying, desperately, to gain control.

But this is Paul Lahote we're talking about, so the next words out of his mouth shouldn't have come as a surprise to me. "Not only do I get cosmically stuck with leech left-overs, but she has the nerve to laugh about it…"

I'll give him one thing — he certainly knew how to stop a laughing fit in an instant. Now I was back to being blood-vessel-burstingly pissed off.

I didn't know there was a being on the planet that could affect me like that, but there he was ladies and gents, sitting in the driver's seat of a red Dodge truck.

"Excuse me? What did you just say?" I hissed as I mopped tears from my cheeks with the cuff of my sleeve. "Stuck with leech left-overs?!" If looks could kill, he'd be dead a few times over. "Well then, I guess you just solved your problem, didn't you, you egotistical, flea-bitten asshole, because this leech left-over," I sneered, "wants nothing to do with you!"

Astoundingly, he looked genuinely sorry, but I couldn't have cared less at that moment.

"Please wait," he said with a heavy sigh as he reached for me, "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

This time I got the door open, and I hopped out and slammed it before storming toward the path that led back to the beach.

I almost made it too, before I felt a strong arm circle my waist and pluck me off the ground like I weighed nothing. I kicked and tried to land a fist on anything I could reach and he growled while walking back to the truck, "Will you please calm down so we can talk this out? Jesus…"

He sat me back in the passenger's side and closed the door, then started to walk around to his side. As he did, I spotted the keys in the ignition and, with a jolt of vindictive glee, hit the lock button.

His eyes went wide when he heard it and he rushed the last few feet to his door, chanting, "No, no, no … damn it!" when he tried the handle. His palm thumped on the window as I eased over the console and into the driver's seat. "Swan? Bella, c'mon, this isn't fuckin' funny. Open the door."

I raised a brow at him and adjusted the seat. "So, you do know how to use my first name. Pity you couldn't have found some manners earlier, Lahote," I said as I turned the key. The truck smoothly growled to life and he started slapping the glass, yelling, "Don't you dare, Swan. I worked my ass off for this truck! I swear to god, you better not!"

I grabbed the shift lever and put the truck in reverse while giving him a wide grin. He now looked … distressed. "Bella? Bella, c'mon, you've had your fun, now let's talk, please? I swear, I'll be nice, the perfect gentleman, all right? I'm sorry. Please?"

Without breaking eye contact, I reached down and released the parking brake with a dull clunk, which he, of course, heard.

Hazel eyes narrowed to slits and he began to shake. "Bella! Fuck! I said I was sorry, damn it! Don't you dare take my truck!"

As I wiggled my fingers in a little wave, from the corner of my eye I saw Jake and the rest of the pack run up from the beach, their eyes wide and mouths gaping as I revved the engine of Paul's truck. He jumped back just in time as the tires screeched when I backed out of the space. Then I threw it in drive, cut the wheel, and fish-tailed out of the parking lot, leaving him standing there, yelling out a loud "Fuck!"

I was half-way back to Forks, nodding to the beat of Everlong when it dawned on me that I felt … pretty good. To be completely honest, I hadn't felt this good — this alive — in months, and with that realization, I smiled widely as I tapped a rhythm on the top of the steering wheel.

'This really is a nice truck; a pleasure to drive. No wonder he's so touchy over it. I should look into getting one.'

I'll admit it: I was also feeling pretty damn smug. And why shouldn't I? After all, I'd managed to get one over on the most volatile shifter in the pack. And really, he had it coming.

'Leech left-overs, indeed…' I thought with a scoff.

Of course, I should've known not to get too comfortable. Where Isabella Swan goes, trouble follows and sure enough, mere moments later, something bright caught my eye in the rear-view mirror.

My nose scrunched as I squinted to sharpen the image. "No … Is that…?"

It was still distant, but rapidly gaining, and within moments, the unmistakable flashing blue and red were just a few car-lengths behind me. My heart sank.

"No, no, no," I denied, "He didn't. Please tell me he didn't…"

Two short bursts of the siren removed all doubt, and I felt all my blood drain to my feet as I signaled, slowed, and pulled over to meet what was sure to be my doom.

"Charlie … is going to kill me."

.

.

A/N:

To explain the title of the story, according to Washington state law:

Taking motor vehicle (TMV) without permission in the second degree.

(1) A person is guilty of taking a motor vehicle without permission in the second degree if he or she, without the permission of the owner or person entitled to possession, intentionally takes or drives away any automobile or motor vehicle, whether propelled by steam, electricity, or internal combustion engine, that is the property of another, or he or she voluntarily rides in or upon the automobile or motor vehicle with knowledge of the fact that the automobile or motor vehicle was unlawfully taken.

(2) Taking a motor vehicle without permission in the second degree is a class C felony.