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“Lindsay,” Blaine says, his voice low with pleasure, moving toward her.
The sound of her name coming out of his mouth breaks me.
My fist hits his face with a satisfying crunch as the fury drives me forward, like a spirit that inhabits my body and takes over. It feels good. Right. Powerful, my body going into overdrive as I do exactly what I need to do in this monumental moment. Four years.
Four years.
He moves back, his nose bloodied, eyes wild with some mix of confusion and outrage, his mouth opening to say something, but I fill those lips with my fist, turning this punch into my final blow, the one that has to be enough for four years ago.
And yet I have no logic, no rationality, no strategic purpose as my rat brain kicks in and does the job. The second punch makes my thumb joint slip between his teeth, saliva on my hand, the feel of the corner of his mouth tearing a brutal victory.
Lindsay’s breath on my ear, her small hands pulling on my shoulders, snap me out of it.
“Drew! You’re on camera!”
“You’re the dead man now, Foster,” Blaine hisses through a mouthful of blood. His eyes are unfocused. He’s not looking up. If he looks at Lindsay, so much as glances her way, I’ll crush his head with one targeted kick.
“Drew! Stop! You’re going to be arrested. He’s not worth it.”
That makes Blaine look up.
“You sick piece of shit,” she says. Her calf pulls back like she’s about to kick him.
A swarm of people come running down the hallway to my back. I hear the footsteps. Lindsay jumps out of the way, runs to the loading dock door behind Blaine, and opens it. I have no idea what she’s doing, and reach for her, wanting her behind me so I can protect her from Blaine, and then someone’s got my arms snapped behind me in a locked grip.
“Representative! What happened?”
“Someone assaulted the representative!” Lindsay gasps, pointing to the now-open door. “He went that way!”
My arms drop instantly, but I feel the heat of the security guy behind me, waiting for orders from Blaine.
“She’s ly -- ” Blaine gives me a shrewd look, then glances at the ceiling. His eyes float behind my shoulder. “Review the video.”
“There isn’t any here, sir. We lost visual on you, then heard shouts.”
Blaine looks at me in disgust, eyes narrowed.
“You’re wasting time!” Lindsay shrieks, pointing. “I witnessed the whole thing! Drew was protecting Representative Maisri and tried to punch the attacker, but he fled. All three men were just a pile of people. I was on my way to the restroom and found them and started calling for help!” Her eyes float to the women’s restroom two doors down.
Every second she calculates, every comment she makes, gives the story credence. Nice touch using his title.
My own guys appear, five of them, Gentian among them.
“Sir?” he asks, eyes cold, assessing the situation, knowing damn well what I just did.
“We need medical attention for Representative Maisri.” I look at him. “I’m sorry for the accident. I was trying to hit the target.”
Trying my damnedest.
Blaine gives me a rueful look as one of the members of his security detail hands him a handkerchief for the blood. Two medics appear, carrying a large first aid kit. “My team will investigate this.”
“Of course,” I say, nodding. Lindsay’s behind me, gushing out lie after lie to a group of security guys who listen intently. She’s got them wrapped around her little finger, spinning a story about events that never, ever happened.
Three of Blaine’s security team are already out the door, chasing an assailant who doesn’t exist.
“Oh, oh!” Lindsay says, grabbing Gentian’s arm. He braces her. “I’m – it’s so warm in here. I’m feeling faint,” she says, her voice tinny and thin. She used to faint sometimes...before.
Four years ago. When I knew who she was.
