The woman screams, and my fingers curl into my palms. I can’t fucking help her. There’s nothing I can do. I walk into the bathroom, and shut the door, pressing my hand to the surface. I can’t let that woman end up in the next missing bulletin. I can’t do it. I grab my phone and shoot a text to Kirk Pitt, another agent working the Water’s case but from afar: Get a patrol to Longhorn Bar off county road 1220. And just in case, send an ambulance. And get tech to wipe this message. I delete the message, take a piss, and hope like hell for the best as I return to the bar.
Not a single member of the Kings is left in the bar.
They left.
I eye the bartender. “Where the fuck did they go?”
“I told them I called the cops,” he says. “They took off. Why don’t you get smart and do the same?”
My lips press together and I eye the barstools where the woman in the red dress and her boyfriend had been sitting. “What happened to the couple?”
“She followed them outside, trying to find her boyfriend. So what the hell do you think happened?”
I curse and run for the door. Sirens sound in the distance as I exit and find the boyfriend laying in the center of the parking lot. I rush to his side, and squat down, checking for a pulse. It’s weak but it’s there. An ambulance turns into the far-right entrance. Help has arrived for the man, but I’m the only hope that woman has. I leave the man where he lies, run to my bike, and climb on, not sure how I save her and not get us both killed. But I have to try.
I blink awake, instantly aware of Pri’s backside pressed close, while Blake stands above us. Pri must sense his presence as well, as she gasps and sits up. I go with her and then we’re side by side as the plane jolts.
“Bumpy landing expected,” Blake says. “You two need to buckle into a seat.”
“I have to go to the bathroom first,” Pri says, standing and hurrying past Blake.
He hands me a bag. “Chick-fil-A. Somehow Beckham managed to grab us enough to feed an army before takeoff. I heated it up for you. And in case you don’t already know, that was a fucked-up decision you made tonight, going into that restaurant.”
“Are you telling me you wouldn’t have made it for your wife?”
“Pri isn’t your wife.”
“Are you telling me you wouldn’t have done it before you married Kara?”
“Are you telling me you’re going to marry Pri?” he counters.
The question explodes in my mind, taunting me with everything I am and once was, everything I can’t be for Pri. Everything I wish I could be for Pri. “I’m telling you that her safety comes before mine. And that isn’t going to change.”
Suddenly Pri is standing next to Blake. “I don’t want to be alive and miserable because you’re dead, Adrian. You shouldn’t have been in that restaurant tonight. The end.” She glances at Blake. “Please tell me that food is for us.”
“It is,” Blake says, handing her the bag. “Chick-fil-A compliments of Beckham.”
The plane jolts and instantly Blake and I steady our feet, and each of us presses a hand to the ceiling for support. A moment later, I grab Pri and pull her to me. Blake’s eyes meet mine and his lips quirk. “There’s a reason you put on your own oxygen mask before you save the person next to you. The premise is one we both know well. We both understand we can’t protect those we love if we’re dead.”
In other words, that’s exactly, instinctually, what I just did.
He steps around us and walks down the aisle.
Chapter Fourteen
ADRIAN
The plane stabilizes, at least for the moment, and I urge Pri to take advantage of the stable ground. “Let’s get buckled in,” I say, taking the bag of food from her to allow her to move down the aisle ahead of me with free hands to grab for stability if needed. Once she’s in her earlier seat, I set the bag of food down in mine. “I’ll get us drinks.”
She lifts the whiskey bottle. “We have this.”
I glance at the all but empty bottle. “I think it’s time for some water.”
She smiles and slugs back some whiskey before coughing and hoarsely agrees, “Yes. Please. Water.”
Pri doesn’t grab a bottle and drink. She’s too much of a control freak, but she’s making such a cute face that now I’m doing the impossible, and smiling, because that’s what Pri does for me. She drags me from the swampland where I’m drowning in criminal slime and self-hate, and I see light again, at least for a moment. The problem is that once you’re in the swampland, you’re forever marked. I’m marked. And apparently, I’m trying like hell to mark her, too.