“She sure has a smart mouth for a kid. Want me to show her where a smart mouth gets you in life?” one of the smaller guys asks. He jumps off his bike and stalks toward me.
“Not yet!” the main one shouts. I’m afforded a reprieve, but why? “You ditch your bodyguards, honey?”
Well, that answers that.
They know about Dax and Aiden. I’m betting this has nothing to do with me and everything to do with that stupid mystery envelope. Why now? Their timing is either perfect or it sucks balls.
I can tell the truth, or I can lie. I weaponize my shitty genetics and choose lies. “I don’t know what you—”
“No use hiding it. We know all about you, Jules.”
But how much do they know and how do they know it? They’ve waited for me outside the Tower, but that doesn’t tell me if they know my apartment number. They call me Jules and not Juliet, so they’ve either been sent by someone who knows I prefer the condensed version of my name or who only knows me by the condensed version.
Dax said something about not trusting anyone. Does he have a mole? Could it be whoever set up Tom? If it is, how would they know about me unless they’d seen me in the middle of the fray? Suddenly, I don’t like my odds and I don’t just mean escaping the biker idiots with all my bones intact; I mean surviving Dax, his men, his troubles, all of it. I have a stone in my gut that just keeps sinking lower—and the lower it sinks the heavier it feels.
“They’re not here and they’re not coming. They figured I’m worthless and sent me home.” I act dismissive, bored even. If I can convince them Dax didn’t want me, then perhaps, they’ll think I’m a waste of time too.
“I’d think you were bullshitting me, kid; except they haven’t showed up yet.” His eyes flick from me to the bridge and back again, finding no threat. I’m not sure if I should pray Carlo shows up now or doesn’t show up at all. The last thing I want is for him to walk into this shit with Casey on his hip.
“Well, if you want to wait, be my guest, but you’ll be waiting a while.” I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest, leaning casually on one foot.
“In that case, you are coming with us,” he says loudly, rocking back and sliding his bat into a bag slung across his back. The handle pokes out over his right shoulder. I consider making a grab for it and then think better of it. I’m stupid, not reckless.
“What? Are you kidding me?”
“No.” He nudges his head toward the back of his bike. “Get on.”
“No way.”
“Don’t fight us on this, Jules.”
“It’s not like you can strap an unconscious body to a teeny bike like that, so I say yes, Iwillfucking fight you on this. Come on. Which of you brave boys want to hit the little woman first?” I raise my fists as the truth of my words hits them. I need to be conscious and compliant if they want to ride out with me. There is no chance of anything else. The head man leans back and laughs loudly. His grin widening as at least six more guys come out of the building to join them.
“I like you. You’re a brave little thing, but, kid, there are worse things we can do than knock you unconscious.”
A strange buzzing noise distracts me from those words, and I can’t help but think it’s a good thing too, because my rampant imagination already drums up images of what they might do to me instead, and none of the visions are as appealing as broken bones.
The buzzing intensifies. My leg throbs and I realise what it really is: the phone.
I take it out, praying that it’s Dax or Aiden calling. My disappointment is palpable when I discover only a message. A nearby hand reaches out to snatch the phone from my fingers, but they are too late, because two words flash up on the screen surrounded by a pink bubble. The only words I need.
GET DOWN.
I hit the concrete hard, cradling my phone to my chest so as not to smash it off the floor. My knees take the worst of the impact, but I forget my pain as all hell breaks loose around me.
Some men shout as I fall, cussing and confused. The panic only intensifies when others drop around me. Most of the bikes fall too or are kicked away as the men jump off them to fight back. But fight what? Dax, Aiden, and who else?
I hear hissing sounds, screams, more yelling—this time in anger and surprise. Until, one by one, the grunts and groans stop and I’m the only one left.
I dare to raise my head.
“Oh God. Are they dead? Did you really just shoot them? Holy crap they’re dead, right?” I mutter. Men in suits surround the area, kicking over bodies and collecting the weapons and keys. Each suit carries a long gun. Shotguns? I don’t know. I’m too freaked out to care. All I know is that I’m alive and surrounded by the bodies of the men who wanted to kidnap me.
I looked around at a calm sort of chaos. Bodies lay strewn about the concrete. A sea of blue cotton and denim. Bikes intersperse the bodies at odd angles, even laying on the fallen men in some places. An army of suits mill around the scene, dragging the fallen in pairs and throwing them into the back of a large black van. It backs up as close to the mess as it can get without rolling over skulls. Every time I turn my head, I get a snapshot of the action. Like flashes, the scene becomes still images that pulse behind my eyes and each time they pulse the blackness between them becomes darker, longer, more consuming.
I’m going to faint.
“Jules, calm down.” A hand gently squeezes my shoulder. I look down at the elegant fingers and realise they are not as smooth as I assumed, but they are unmistakablyhis. I run my gaze over his face and acknowledge the way the grim set of his lips contrasts with the tenderness in his eyes.
