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2
Decker
I clench the car fob in my left hand, my gun in my right, and scramble into a crouched position.
“No.” Keira shakes her head. “Not without Layla.”
“I already told her to run. Now get moving.” Torian rushes toward the shattered windows of the restaurant, Hunter and Sarah following close behind.
“You heard the guy.” I hold out a hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
She rolls onto her stomach and scans the room. “I can’t leave without seeing Layla first.”
“You can. You will. And you are. Either on your feet or over my shoulder. It’s your choice, pumpkin.” I grab her wrist and tug. “You don’t want to be here if the shooter comes back.”
She struggles to her feet in the long evening dress, the tight material restricting the movement of her legs. Once upright, she continues to scan the darkness, the streetlights from outside the only illumination. “Layla.”
I pause, waiting for her sister’s shout, but there’s no reply. Only the sound of panic and hysteria as guests scramble like mice.
“Come on.” This time I yank her hard, pulling her into my side and trapping her there with an arm around her waist. I drag her toward the back of the restaurant, ignoring the trail of blood on the floor.
Keira remains strong, a mere shudder of breath and wide eyes her only show of fear.
“Keep walking.” I hold her against me and push through to the kitchen where women huddle in corners and hide beneath steel counters. “Get out of here. Escape out the back.”
They rush to follow my command, eager for any leadership.
“You okay?” I murmur near Keira’s ear, not appreciating her silence.
“Yes.” One word. One syllable. No emotion.
I can’t tell if she’s totally badass or so tightly wound she doesn’t know how to express the fucked up shit ru
We make into the fresh air as the small crowd of females flee the employee parking lot in a mass of sobs and clicking heels.
It’s then that Keira plants her feet and turns in my arms. “Layla wouldn’t have run without me. I need to go back.”
“I’m sure you’re wrong. Fear does crazy things—”
“There’s no more gunfire. I’m going back.”
She takes a step, and I block her path. “It was a drive-by. How hard do you think it is for them to turn around and go for round two?”
She narrows her eyes on me, her pupils almost eating up all the pretty blue. “Who’s to say they’re not trolling the back streets trying to gun down those who escape through the alley?”
Good point. Unfortunately, not good enough to convince me to let her go.
“That’s a risk we’re going to have to take.” I drag her to the black Porsche parked a few feet away and unlock the doors with the fob Torian gave me.
I don’t even get her door open before the unmistakable wail of police sirens poisons the air.
The sound is close. Too close.
They were watching.
Fuck.
“We need to move.” I yank open the passenger door and wait.
She blinks at me, her breathing labored. “Please, Decker, let me stay.” She tries to wear me down with puppy dog eyes, her master manipulation working for more seconds than I care to admit.
“Get in the damn car.” I pull her forward and have her huddled inside before she can pummel me with another protest. Then I’m sliding into the driver’s seat, placing my gun in her lap, and starting the engine while red and blue flashes through the sky.
I don’t turn on the headlights. I drive down back alleys in darkness until we’re blocks away and I can risk returning to the city streets.
I have no clue where I’m going, I just drive, her constant anxiety-riddled glances out the rear window a torturous companion as adrenaline pulses through my veins.
I check the mirrors and don’t find anything suspicious to worry about. “We’re not being followed.”
“How do you know?”
I pull to the curb and let all the vehicles in the vicinity pass. Then I take the next left down a side street. “See.” I jerk my chin at the mirror. “Nobody is tailing us.”
She keeps her focus on the rear window, poised to prove me wrong even after I turn left along a desolate road, then right down another.
“You okay?” I switch on the radio, letting the soft murmur ease the tension.
“Stop asking me that.” She settles into her seat, her hands delicately stroking the barrel of my gun.
My gaze keeps returning to her fingers, the nails polished in a feminine light pink to match the darker color of her dress. “Do you know how to use it?”
Her movements pause, those soft hands shifting to her thighs. Her nails dig into the shimmering fabric along her legs, betraying her tightly guarded distress. She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t give me an inch.
“Would you prefer to talk about the weather?” I lean forward and check the night sky. “It’s clear out. Not a cloud in sight. I thought they predicted rain.”
Again, it doesn’t seem to be the best conversation starter if her silence is anything to go by. Unfortunately, comfort isn’t something I excel at. My verbal expertise is in the range of politically incorrect jokes and inappropriate comments. This close and personal shit usually gives me hives.
“I promise you everything will be all right.” My placation is useless at best.
“Don’t insult me, Decker. I’m not a child.”
“Okay… Then let’s discuss it. Who do you think is responsible for pulling the trigger?”
She turns to me, her brows tight in confusion. Those blue eyes scrutinize. Questioning. Searching.
“What?” I ask. “You don’t want to talk at all?”
“No. It’s not that.” She shakes her head. “It’s just that nobody has wanted my opinion before. I’ve never been asked to contribute my thoughts.”
“Well, here’s your chance. What do you think happened?”
She narrows her gaze, and for a brief second I think I’ve crossed a line. I’ve pushed. I’ve pried into the i
She wraps her arms around her waist and returns to her silence.
“Keira?”
She sucks in a long breath. “I don’t know.” The response is tortured, the words pulled from a place etched in pain and suffering.
“I don’t think anyone will for a while,” I offer. “Whoever is playing games knows how to cover their tracks. Just like with your uncle.”
Her arms fall, her hands moving back to her thighs, the nails digging deep.
“I bet you’re worried about him.”
“Of course.” She scowls at me. “He’s my uncle.”
Her statement is a question on my intelligence. The Torians value family above all else. But the comment is also a deliberate deflection. She’s keeping herself locked tight, the vibrancy in her eyes betraying strong emotions.
She’s known as the weak one. The vulnerable, emotional Torian. Although, clearly, her strength under pressure proves she’s much more of a woman than the average man could handle.
Despite her fortitude, I’ve wanted to save her since the first night we met—from her brother and this life—but I’m yet to determine if she wants to be saved. I’m also clueless when it comes to her moral compass.
“Sorry. Stupid question.” I drive for long minutes, sticking to the speed limit, determined not to give any cop the excuse to get up close and personal. A speeding ticket is the least of my worries at the moment, but it’s also a hassle I don’t need. “Do you have anywhere safe we can go?”
“Home,” she whispers.