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I smirk at the inside joke, we toss back and forth, and keep on keepin’ on until I’m nudging past King Kong to catch Candace’s arm. “Candy?”
She whirls on me now and her eyes going wide. “Rick? How are you here right now?”
It’s an unintentionally perfect response. “Home sweet home was calling, baby.”
Pencil Dick wants to die today. He wraps his arm around her. I decide that I might not kill him, but the hand that grabbed her ass will not work properly before this is over. Ever. A-fucking-gain.
“She is not your baby,” he snaps. “Do not disrespect the future first lady.”
“And you are?” I ask.
“Her fiancé. Who the hell are you?”
My lips thin. “Her ex-fiancé,” I say, and while my tone is cool, anger crackles beneath my surface.
He scowls and looks at Candace. “You said you hadn’t talked to him in years.”
“That’s right,” she agrees.
Now his lips thin. “And here he is.”
Meanwhile, my mind hums a little song: Itsy bitsy Gabriel went up the water spout, down came the blood bath that washed him to the ground. I almost smile with the catchy tune.
“Here I am,” I agree. “Let’s talk about respect.”
“Because you have none?” he challenges.
“Considering you just grabbed her ass while a reporter took a photo, I assume you were the last person with respect on your mind.”
“Oh fuck,” he murmurs, and eyes King Kong. “Find him.” He eyes me. “What did he look like?”
“Tall white dude in a tuxedo,” I smirk with the stupid description.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Pencil Dick snaps. “Give us more.”
“Curly blond hair and the only reason I’m telling you at all is to protect Candace.”
Pencil Dick’s gaze shoots to Kong. “Go!”
Kong turns away and maneuvers into the crowd and just like that, I’ve set up a path to Adrian freeing Candace from captivity. He too can report the mysterious reporter taking photos, and he too can send Kong on a goose chase.
Asher snaps at me in my ear. “Now, man. You need to go now.”
I eye Candace who really is too damn beautiful for my own good with all that long, silky brown hair and her creamy perfectly pale skin. “How about that drink?”
Gabriel scowls at me. “Walk away before I call security.”
“Talking to an old friend is a crime now?” I ask dryly. “Huh. Who’d have thunk it?” I incline my chin at Candace. “I’ll find you again.” It’s a reminder of our bathroom stall chat before I give her a wink and rotate away from her, but damn it to fuck, I just want to turn around, throw her over my shoulder and run. That wouldn’t make me a hero, but rather a selfish bastard who let her father die and her enemy live. For that reason alone, I keep moving. In long, unimpeded strides, I exit the ballroom and head south down a hallway that leads me far and long to an emergency exit. I’ve just entered the stairwell when my cellphone rings. I keep moving and snake my phone from my pocket to find Asher calling me instead of speaking in my headset.
I stop dead in my tracks and answer the call. “What?”
“Your father’s house is on fire.”
My jaw sets hard. “Tag knows I’m coming. It’s a trap. Let it burn. Move on as planned. Get her father out of that prince’s palace, now, before Tag figures out this night is about more than me and him.”
“We can’t find your father.”
An unexpected punch of emotion slams right into my heart. “Someone other than me needs to find him.”
“Adrian—”
“I need to focus on Candace. Tell him Alejandro is looking for a fake reporter in a tuxedo with blond curly hair who took a photo of Gabriel grabbing Candace’s ass. Use the fake photographer to distract that asshole and get Candace out of here.”
“Rick,” he says softly.
“Stay the course, man. He’s fucking with me.”
“If he knows you’re coming—”
“Tell Adam I’m three minutes out.” I hang up and start walking again. There is no “if” about it. Tag knows I’m coming and I don’t give two fucks. Let him surround himself with an army. I’ll kill them all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Savage
I step under the final stairwell, and actually step underneath the above level, where I reach behind a utility box, and grab the bag that awaits there. In two minutes flat, I’ve exchanged my tuxedo for a pair of black cargo pants, a black long-sleeved T-shirt, combat boots, and a black baseball hat. The tux goes into the bag, the bag over my shoulder, and then I’m moving again. I exit to the lobby level hallway, in another thirty seconds, and walk right to an emergency exit that’s been disarmed. Pushing it open, I enter the darkness of a damp Texas night where my Porsche 911 is now waiting with Adam behind the wheel.
He pops the trunk and I toss my bag inside and slide another bag filled with weapons closer. I unzip it, slip on a shoulder holster and then load myself down with every weapon I can possibly carry. Once I’m back at the passenger door, I climb inside the Porsche, seal the door, and buckle up.
