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“Two of you?” he said in a slurred voice.
Frankie looked over at me, and I could read his expression. He was pissed, all but shouting at me that he’d “told me so,” that we shouldn’t fucking deal with tweakers.
“You got the information or not?” I took a step forward, hand still shoved in the pocket of my coat, waiting for him to give us what we needed so we could get the fuck out of here and away from him.
He took a step back and started looking between Frankie and me, and then he lifted his hand and started picking at his face. “No,” he muttered and shook his head. “I don’t like this. There’s two of you. Why is there two of you?”
Frankie snorted and I glanced at him. He shook his head. “Wilder, man, this is fucked. Let’s get the hell out of here.” He shoved a hand in the pocket of his jacket and I heard his keys jingling around.
Before I knew was happening, the tweaker started screaming about doppelgängers, a government conspiracy, and why there were two of me.
I looked over at the junkie and everything happened in slow motion. I watched as he produced a gun, one he had shoved in the front of his pants. His hand was shaking as he pointed it at me, as his bloodshot eyes went wide and he kept rambling about magic and witchcraft and how there were two of me.
And then I heard a gunshot go off.
At first, I didn’t know if it was Frankie’s or the junkie’s. But then the tweaker turned and ran away, tossing his gun to the ground, and I stood there staring at his retreating form.
I heard Frankie shouting at me, but the words were muffled, this ringing in my ears, this pressure like I was on a plane and they needed to pop.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck, Wilder.” He had his hand on my shoulder and turned me, his focus down at my abdomen, his eyes wide. I looked down and saw my white shirt slowly becoming saturated with blood, the color a vibrant red even in the darkened ally.
“Motherfucker shot me?” I looked up at Frankie, feeling my brows knit.
“Shit, Wilder, you’re in shock.”
And it was after he said that, as I felt him pulling me toward the SUV, as I heard him call up Dom and shout frantically into the cell, I knew this might very well be the end of my story.
But I hoped like hell it wasn’t.
Chapter Seventeen
Kimber
I felt a flush steal over me as Cullen ran his hands over the curve of my bottom.
“Pop that ass up, baby.”
His voice was so husky and serrated. It had this gritty quality to it that instantly had moisture pooling between my thighs. I did what he said, lifting my bottom up slightly and feeling his warm breath skate along the small of my back. Then it was his lips, followed by his tongue. He kissed and licked the mounds of my cheeks, his hands on my hips, his fingers digging into my sides.
I closed my eyes and moaned roughly, my hands beside me, the sheets bunched between my fingers. God, it felt so good to be touched by him.
I felt him pull away, but I didn’t protest, because I knew he’d be right back, knew he was getting undressed and about to give me exactly what I wanted.
I knew he’d give me that big and long cock, knew he’d shove it deep inside my body. And just as I heard his zipper sliding down, just as I knew what was about to happen, there was the sound of his cell phone going off.
“Ignore it,” I said, panting out those words as I looked over my shoulder at him.
“Already forgotten, baby,” he replied and smirked.
But then his cell phone went off again. I pushed up on my elbows as I watched his brows knit. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out, and whatever number he saw had him growling.
“It’s Dom.”
I knew he was about to say he wasn’t going to answer it, maybe toss the phone away, but as soon as the call ended it immediately started ringing again.
I sat up then, knowing something had to be wrong for Dom to be calling back-to-back like this. I could see on Cullen’s face, on his expression, that he thought the same thing. He placed the cell to his ear and said roughly, “This better be good, brother.”
For long seconds, nothing was said as he listened to Dom on the other end. By the look on his face, I was already up and getting dressed.
Something was wrong.
After terse minutes, Cullen was off the phone and getting dressed himself.
“What’s wrong?” I asked frantically. Cullen was silent, this dangerous, worried air around him. “Cullen, talk to me.” I reached out and grabbed his arm, and he stilled. He looked at me, his brows furrowed.
