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“Are you crazy?” I yell, slamming my right arm over her chest and pinning her to the seat to keep her arms still. I ignore her yelp of pain when my arm crashes into her injured one. “He’s not dead. I saw him sit up before we left the place. The car wasn’t going fast, and he’s a pretty big guy. It’d take more than a car going fifteen to do real damage to him. Okay? And just so we’re clear, if you hit me again, I’ll shoot you in the other shoulder.”
“Liar. You said you came to save me from the wedding, so I know you’re full of shit. Now give me your phone and let me call my parents so I can tell them about Ky.”
Fury floods my insides. I wrap my fingers tight around the wheel, imagining they’re squeezing Skyla’s neck, and fuck me if I don’t get hard at the thought. “The only person who’s about to get a phone call is my brother. So sit back and shut up. I have a muzzle in the back seat. Don’t think I won’t use it.”
I stab Nik’s number into my dashboard. Goddamn Kylian. I’d love nothing more than to see his ass in a wheelchair, mangled beyond repair.
We could have both been superstars in college. We could have both been drafted to the NFL and lived out our dream.
Instead, he’s living his best life with scouts crawling up his ass, and I’m stuck here in Miami, a thug gangster who used to be able to throw a perfect eighty-yard spiral. Now, I slit throats and sell guns for a living.
Every time I look at Skyla, I remember what happened the night before that game, what I did that ended my career and shattered my dreams. She is a constant reminder of the pain of that crushing loss, pain that haunts me every day.
And I want her to feel it, too.
“Z, what’s up? You pick up the package?”
“Yeah, I got the package.” My eyes slide over to Skyla. “But it’s broken. Needs to be patched up.”
“What do you mean, patched up? What the hell happened?”
“There was a little complication. Something went wrong.” I let out a sharp breath. “You need to make the call.”
“Jesus Christ,” Nik mutters. He knows that “making the call” means we need a doctor, stat. “I’ll take care of it and meet you at the track.”
More code. I need to haul ass over to his place right now. Skyla is finally quiet, but it could be because she’s weak from the blood loss, or the adrenaline crash, and even the constant assaults on me since we left the Four Seasons.
“We’re going to the racetrack?” Skyla twists toward me once I hang up.
“Why? You like to bet horses?”
“It’s analysis. Of course. I have my own system for handicapping horses.” She rolls her eyes as if it was a stupid thing for me to ask.
“That’s right. I forgot. You’re the brainiac of your family.”
Skyla twists away from me. She sucks air through her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut as she gingerly cradles her injured arm. “Fuck,” she mutters.
I glare at the road, weaving in and out of lanes to avoid slow as shit cars.
“Can you please be careful? It’d be really ironic to get shot and then die an excruciatingly painful death in a car accident.”
“Death seems to be the only way I’d get any peace, considering your mouth hasn’t stopped once since you got shot. Why don’t you save your energy? Isn’t the blood loss making you tired? Maybe you need to shut your eyes for a while, like the rest of the trip.”
“As if I’d let myself bleed out. While you’ve been moaning and groaning about your ‘lost glory,’ I made myself a tourniquet with a linen napkin I grabbed from the bridal suite on the way out. You were too busy with your wallowing to notice.”
My head snaps in her direction. She still has one side of my jacket covering her, but the shot-up arm is bare and wrapped. I guess I was too preoccupied with my own hell to notice how she was dealing with hers.
“Right, you wanted to be a doctor.”
“A surgeon.” She huffs. “And then in a hot second, everythingIwanted for my life got yanked away from me, and now I’m expected to keep my damn mouth shut and smile for the cameras or else.”
If that isn’t the story of my own fucking life.
“It is the worst betrayal of someone’s trust when you steal their life away because of your greedy choices. But then again, you know all about that, don’t you?”
I inwardly cringe at her caustic tone.
She knows I do.
