Page 80 of Heist in Paradise

And her finger curled back over the trigger.

JAX

Something was wrong.

It was more than a feeling, more than a constant sense of foreboding. It was like missing a step and free-falling, like gravity itself had turned on me and I was scrambling to keep upright.

Nate was shot.

Madoc and Olivia had gone silent.

There was blood on my hands and salt on my tongue and in my eyes. Everything was burning.

“Hold him still,” Ryle hissed in frustration as he battled a delirious Nate spread out on the dining room table. I moved on autopilot, pinning his torso down, cupping his head in the crook of my arm. His eyes found mine feverishly, wild and white, like the man I’d killed earlier.

Was this my karma?

He needs you.

Right.

I forced myself back to the present. My hands softened on Nate’s jaw, finding his pulse hammering erratically beneath it. “Hey, you’re good. You hear me?” My voice was rough as shit. Not exactly the most comforting sound.

Even so, Nate’s body softened.

Zola hovered at his other side, holding his hand and trying not to cry. She was losing the battle. Meanwhile, Callum and Ryle were patching him up as best they could with what they had on hand. The bullet had punctured muscle and bone, but nothing vital. It was the shock and infection that worried us, plus whatever else the idiot had been funneling into his body lately.

“I better have a cool scar,” Nate said weakly.

Zola smacked his chest. “You fucker.”

“Ow,” he whined, reaching up with his free hand to nurse his pec. “I’m wounded here. Be nice to me.”

“I hate you,” Zola said, her voice breaking. Nate fell silent, watching her. The rest of us pointedly ignored the tension between them, the wordless grief of nearly losing each other.

The silence in my ears was deafening.

Ryle appeared in front of me. “Your turn.”

I shoved him away with a scowl. “I’m fine.”

“Nope. We’re not doing that anymore.” Ryle glared at me. The expression was so odd on his usually grinning face that I found myself wanting to smile. The weak imitation made Ryle glare harder. “Just accept my mother-henning, asshole. It won’t kill you.”

So I gave him my arm and watched him clean and bandage the wound with too much aggression. Still, I didn’t complain, and once we were all in reasonable condition (i.e., not bleeding out on the nice hardwood floors), it was time to bounce.

Rounding up the girls was easy. They were lifeless, puppets pulled on strings, obedient in a way that made my heart hurt. It was the sheer number of them that proved challenging. Callum did a head count, and the first girl we’d rescued continued to howl and plead for her sister still on the boat.

Madoc can handle it.

The assurance did nothing to soothe the pit of snakes in my belly.

Moving such a large group through the mansion and back into the rainforest was slow going. Ryle and I carried Nate between us, pausing often to adjust him or check his condition. He was pale but still a whiny bitch, so I knew he wasn’t both boots in the grave yet.

Time was continuing to rush away from us. I crunched the numbers in my head. Five hours until our boat returns. Then two hours across the sea to the mainland. We’d take the girls, hand them over to the authorities. Then we’d run.

The question was: Where the hell did we go?

It made sense to lie low for a while. Even though we’d secured the painting, Dr. Z wouldn’t be thrilled when word got out that Salvadore had been exposed. He’d immediately look at us, and the Compound was the first place he’d search. Thankfully, I’d had the foresight to start stashing away large wads of cash just in case things went awry. I had a few reliable contacts who could give us new identities. We’d have to split up for a while, change our appearances, set up new lives somewhere far off the grid.