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Smith is already scanning the immediate view of the thick crowd before he’s shaking his head at me. Gordan is nowhere in our visual reach. That’s not an accident. “Back,” Smith says, already headed toward the rear exit.
“Front,” I claim, catching Candace’s hand and pulling her to my side. “We’re leaving. Stay alert.”
“Where is he, Rick? He was right beside me.”
“He ran or someone took him,” I say. “Either way, if we don’t find him inside this bar, he’s not here. One of those pens needs to be in your hand.” I don’t wait for her to make it happen. I start walking the path between the dance floor and tables, scanning for trouble, not Gordan. I meant what I said to Candace. He’s not here anymore and I want Candace out of here. She shouldn’t have been here in the first place, and every single one of us that thought letting her do this was a good idea deserves an ass-whipping. We’ll take turns and beat the shit out of each other. Some asshole steps in front of us with two beers in his hands. I halt before they end up all over us, but I want to kick his fucking ass now, too.
“Move, cowboy,” I order. “Before I castrate you.”
“You want to fight, motherfucker?”
I do, but I recognize my displaced anger, and how bad that could turn out for a guy just having a night out. For that reason, and despite how satisfying punching him would be, I grab Candace’s arm and walk her around him. “He deserved that pencil you’re holding,” I mutter, snagging her hand again before we head for the door, where we exit without any further delay and just in time for a drop of cold rain to smack me on the nose.
Adam steps in front of us the minute we’re out of the crowd. “Anything?” Candace asks him before I can.
“Not yet,” he replies when a woman’s voice lifts. “He said someone is dead upstairs. Someone is dead!”
Fuck.
Gordan.
I grab Candace and hand her off to Adam. “This is Tag’s doing and Tag’s men. I need to handle this. Keep her safe.”
“Rick, no,” she says, grabbing my shirt. “Don’t go back in there.”
“Every second counts, baby,” I say, untangling her hands from my shirt, her desperation something I can’t cave to right now. “Stay with Adam.” I kiss her and step forcefully away while Adam grabs her and turns her toward the parking lot. I turn and jog back into the bar, ignoring the guard telling people to stay back. I linebacker my way inside, prepared to kill or be killed. Because that’s what a confrontation with Tag’s men might come down to.
***
Candace
“Adam, please,” I beg, trying to keep up because the man has my arm and is walking with me at lightning speed across the dark parking lot. The lights didn’t just go out inside the building, they went out here too, and they haven’t come back on out here, as they have inside the bar. That doesn’t seem good. But back to him dragging me through the darkness, where the damn boogie man otherwise known as Tag, could be waiting. The man is like six feet four inches. I can barely keep up, and my God, why is there water misting from the sky again?! “Please go with Rick, Adam,” I add. “What if Tag wants him dead too?”
“I’ll be dead if you end up dead,” he assures me. “Savage can take care of himself.”
“I can take care of myself. Please. I beg of you, Adam.” A black SUV pulls up and the window rolls down to display Smith in the driver’s seat.
“Why are you here and not inside helping Rick?” I demand. “Who’s with Rick?”
“Asher,” Smith assures me.
“And me,” Adam replies, opening the door for me. “Once you get inside the vehicle.”
I hug myself, stubborn rejection in my stance. “Not without Rick.”
“If you’re caught in the middle of a scandal and it’s all over the press,” Adam says, “you become disposable and so does your father. At that point, you’re both better for Gabriel’s campaign dead.”
I drop my hands. “You’re playing dirty, trying to scare me.”
“I’m speaking the truth. Get in so I can go get your fucking pain in the ass man.”
“You’re going to help him?”
“More like stop him from getting pissed off and killing someone we need to talk to first. I told you. Savage can take care of himself. Get in the vehicle.”
“Okay,” I concede. “I am. I will.” I don’t.
He doesn’t seem concerned. Maybe he’s just planning on throwing me inside. He eyes Smith. “Rick said to stay away from the house. Get back-up and use the penthouse.” He turns and starts walking away.
Penthouse?
It’s a code of some sort, but what is he talking about?
“Move, woman,” Smith orders, sirens lifting in the air, screeching nearby. “We need to be gone when they get here.”
