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20
CRACKED LIGHTNING
My old wound throbbed.I tasted real fear, acrid and rancid, at the back of my throat.
Trace.
He was here, and in two seconds his scan of the room would land on me.
My elbow scattered chips to the floor and had the man next to me swearing like I’d just spilled his drink. I hunched under the table to collect them, mentally going over various plans on getting the hell out of here without being noticed.
I didn’t have many to go on.
The cocktail waitress bent down at my feet to assist. I grabbed her wrist to keep her there, and well versed in antics of her rich clientele, she covered her squeak of surprise nicely. Her wide brown eyes landed on mine.
“I need you to help me out of here,” I whispered. I hoped, with my earnestness, I instilled in her the sheer urgency of the situation.
“I don’t understand,” she replied, and I covered a curse.
“That man that just walked in? He’s my ex. An abusive one. He can’t see me. Hecan’t.”
The pain of Trace’s bullet throbbed at my ribcage, a silent alarm my body crafted as a reminder of the pain he could inflict. The death he almost accomplished.
The gorgeous suit he wore most definitely housed a handgun. There were no illusions that once he noticed me, sifted through his memories and saw through my brown hair, that he would shoot me on sight. Nobody here owed me anything, much less protection.
The waitress hesitated.
“Are you all right down there?” the fatherly man asked.
“Oh, yes,” I said, making my voice higher than normal. “Just cleaning up my mess. I’m so clumsy. Um…” I looked to the waitress, and, well-versed in the subtleties of this room, she understood my silent question and answered, “Rebecca.”
“Rebecca is helping me count my chips. Ensuring I didn’t lose any under your shoes,” I finished.
Another pair of shoes took up position across from us. Trace was sitting down at the table. If I popped up, I was done for.
“Rebecca,please.”
She blinked a few times as she thought. “Yes, okay.” She hooked my waist and we both lifted off the floor.
“Oh, dear,” she said to the men. I remained at her elbow, facing away from the table. “It seems we have an issue.”
Playing along, I tottered against her, and she balanced us into a wobbling stand.
“She been drinking before coming here?” someone asked behind me, and I heard the scoff.
“Nicefriends, Henry.”
“If you don’t take the game seriously, sweetheart, we don’t want you here.”
“Jesus H. Christ. Take better stock of your players, Henry.”
A shadow covered us, and I coughed through theyipof terror that wanted to come through instead, but it was Henry. “Get her out of here,” he said to Rebecca, then looked upon me with disdain. “Permanently.”
I mouthed a pitifulI’m sorry, then pretended to retch.
“Good Lord.” He jumped back. “Your fiancé will hear about this. And you’re not getting your buy-in back.”
“I—I—” another well-timed retch and Rebecca and I were practically pushed through the hidden door.
