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“I didn’t?” I shake my head, my eyes burning. This can’t be true. Too good to be real.
He turns to the cell phone. “Hawk, tell her.”
“Hey, Raylin.” His voice trickles over the phone like warm toffee. “You there? Things aren’t as bad as we thought. My contacts already asked. The triad says they only want to have back the money owed to them. Nobody died at any shooting you were involved in. Plus, you’re with Storm now, and they don’t want to that kind of trouble. Jordan enterprises vs. a triad? Not what they’re looking for.”
My throat is closing up fast. I can’t speak.
“Oh and the shooting back at Boca Raton? That wasn’t about you, sugar. In fact…” He sounds intrigued, and a bit miffed. “In fact they said they know nothing about it.”
Jesus.
Storm extracts the cell from my numb fingers and stands up. “Thanks, man, I owe you one. Yeah, a bit fat one, okay. Bastard. I only—”
For the second time this evening, he doesn’t finish what he was about to say, because the glass door to the balcony crashes with a deafening noise, and the next thing I know Storm jerks and drops back on the cushions, clutching his arm. Blood trickles through his fingers.
Holy shit. Guess the reprieve is over.
Another bullet smashes through, hitting a painting with a thunderous crash, and I pull Storm down, to the floor. He drops in an ungainly heap, his face white.
“Stay here,” I tell him. “My turn to keep you safe.”
Chapter Eighteen
STORM
“Ray, no,” I manage through clenched teeth. Fuck, my arm burns like it’s on fire. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“He’s right outside,” she whispers and pulls something out from under the sofa. It’s the gun Hawk gave me, I realize. Damn, my ears are buzzing. “Quiet.”
Another bullet smashes into the wall, passing so close to my head I swear I feel it. I grab her arm and start to crawl backward, but she slips through my fingers like water.
And she rolls away and starts shooting, breaking the balcony doors the rest of the way.
Fuck it all to hell. Blood runs down my arm, warm and plenty of it. Not good. Need to move. Need to do something.
More glass shatters before I can move and grab her, pull her away from this mess. Bullets hit right and left, and I hiss when another line of fire forms in my leg.
Ow, dammit.
I drop to the floor, barely swallowing a howl as the floor meets my brand new wounds, and drag myself across the floor to Raylin. We need to get out of here, call someone, fuck is Raylin hurt? I’m gonna just—
The door to the suite bangs open, and security guys spill inside, guns drawn. My prepaid cell is making tiny pissy noises, and I realize the line is still open, with Hawk on the other end, and I fuzzily wonder if he’s the one who alerted the hotel security or if the sound of the shots and glass shattering was enough.
The two guards move through the apartment, and Ray is pointing at the balcony. They circle toward it.
Need to move. I shift on the floor, but my leg and arm burn like a mother even with the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“Ray.” I reach for her, but even if she’s almost there, she’s too far, and my world is turning dark at the edges. “Damn…”
Need to stop the bleeding before I pass out. Can’t afford that, even if no more shots have been fired and the guards are checking, guns drawn on the ready.
Like Raylin is, still lying belly-down on the floor, scanning the door and balcony. Looking out for me. Putting her life on the line to protect mine.
Jesus. One thought keeps playing in a loop in my sluggish brain: you know, back at the beach house, when she looked like she knew how to use a gun?
Well, she does—and now I know why.
Meanwhile… Fuck, I’m dizzy. Why…?
