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She blinks at me and opens her mouth to speak. I can barely hear what she’s saying over the agents’ frantic talking and Chase murmuring reassurance against my temple.
“Trent…”Wheeze.“Oldani…”Wheeze.“Sto—” Blood spurts from her mouth, coating her cheeks.
Alarmed, I sink further into Chase’s embrace and watch in terror as she chokes on her blood. I see the fear in her eyes as she struggles, drowning. She grips an agent’s hand with her dwindling strength as she gurgles her last breath.
And then her fighting stops. Her hands slips free of the agent’s, and her eyes stare past me, vacant of life.
Full of dismay, a wail breaks free from my lungs. Chase crushes me against him. I weep in his embrace, turning my body to throw my arms around his neck.
A few feet away in front of me, Trent is on his knees, his head in his hands. His shoulders shake as he sobs profusely. A gun lies on the ground beside him, still smoking from being discharged.
CHAPTERFIFTY-ONE
SIMONE
After several hours of being questioned by the FBI agents regarding our audit investigation and how Chase positively identified Cynthia as the thief, we’re released. The agent who questioned me was kind, understanding what I went through was traumatizing. I could barely give my statement as I watched the coroner bag Cynthia’s body, wheeling her out of the room. Chase held me close to his side as I fell apart. The FBI agent in charge thanked me for my cooperation before handing me his card in case I recalled anything else I felt important to share with him.
Trent was equally upset, if not more. I couldn’t blame him. He was the one who grabbed Chase’s gun from his grip, opening fire on Cynthia when she aimed her gun at me. My biker was caught off guard, too focused on what was happening with me to react fast enough to stop Trent. My ex was trembling, apologizing to everyone and anyone for taking Cynthia’s life. The FBI agents didn’t make the experience any less stressful as they questioned him relentlessly. They kept pressing for answers as to why he took action and didn’t let the authorities handle the situation. All he could say was that he feared for my life. With how distraught he was, it was convincing enough, and the feds let him go.
I ride back to the hotel with Punk in the SUV. Chase was worried I was in no shape to ride safely on the back of his bike the short mile up the street. It hurt to detach myself from his side as he helped me into the SUV and buckled me into my seat.
As I cry, Punk reaches over and grabs my hand. “It’s over now. We’re all safe.”
“Cynthia’s not,” I blubber.
“Don’t waste your tears on her, Priss,” Punk instructs, with an edge in his voice. “It was you or her. Trent made the right choice this time around.”
Trent.Hearing his name bothers me. Maybe because I can’t get the sound of Cynthia gasping it out of my head as she lay dying on the floor.
We pull into the hotel parking garage and exit the vehicle. Chase pulls in behind us, hopping off his hog and rushing to take me in his arms. He murmurs tender words in my ear, yet all I continue to hear are Cynthia’s final words.
“Trent…” Wheeze. “Oldani…” Wheeze. “Sto—”
What was Cynthia trying to tell me?
I know it was important, otherwise why say it at all? Why mention the Oldani file? What was the last word she was trying to get out before she choked to death?
Chase leads us back to our suite. He walks me into the bathroom, where he turns on the shower before turning back to me. He caringly undresses me, then himself. I’m ushered into the shower, where Chase shampoos and conditions my hair. My eyes stare at the white-tiled floor of the shower stained with pink swirls, watching the last of Cynthia’s blood drain out of existence.
“Trent…” Wheeze. “Oldani…” Wheeze. “Sto—”
My loving biker scrubs my body before I’m left under the rain showerhead as Chase cleans himself. He turns off the shower, dries us both before helping me dress in my night shorts and tank top.
He whispers, “It’s okay. You’re safe,” as he combs the tangles from my hair and braids it.
He tucks me into bed, where I curl into a ball, staring at the wall. The wheels in my brain turn, but nothing is sparking.
Chase orders room service and coaxes me to eat. I chew, tasting nothing.
I hear Chase asking questions, but I can’t find the strength to answer. My tongue is numb and won’t work.
“Trent…” Wheeze. “Oldani…” Wheeze. “Sto—”
With a shaky exhale, Chase crawls into bed behind me, wrapping his muscular arms around me like a giant shield. His closeness fills my heart with his love, but my uneasiness continues.
Something isn’t right. Maybe I’m restless because I was close to dying. Maybe I’m out of sorts because I watched a woman die in front of my eyes.
Or maybe there’s something more at work and my mind is too scattered to make sense of what’s right in front of me.
