A young girl broke from the melee. She flung herself at him, shackled her arms around his neck. Charlee watched, unable to move forward, as the girl smothered his mouth with hers.
The swarm devoured her view. Her blood boiled, fueling her muscles and propelling her forward. An arm shoved her back. She grabbed the bitch’s ponytail and yanked her to the ground. Too many fucking people. Come on, come on, let her through. A few more elbows and she gained half the distance to him.
Through a break in the rocking heads, she glimpsed Tony release his arms and punch the girl clinging to him. The girl went down and he stumbled back, gripping his chest and chanting something. His entire body seemed to lock up. What horror was tearing him apart inside?
Her heart sprinted. He needed her, goddammit. “Get out of my way.” She launched herself into the wall of bodies and closed a few more feet.
The crowd rippled behind Jay. A moment later, his SUV pushed its way through. The passenger door opened and Edison reached out, pulling Jay inside.
Where was Nathan? Charlee whirled, probing the sea of heads. No Nathan. Oh God, anyone of those heaving bodies could be a Craig. Her heart raced.
Jay arched his back and screamed two syllables. The distance and the shrill of the fans drowned out his voice, but she felt it in the marrow of her soul. He was suffering, buried by his nightmares. She felt him say her name, so close no matter how far. She was there. She willed him to see her.
The remaining bodyguards climbed in on the opposite side of the SUV. Tony pushed Jay into the seat and climbed in after him. As she reached for the door, he jerked his head in Charlee’s direction.
Were they going to leave her? Yes. She swallowed. They couldn’t wait for her to reach them. Tony had clocked a gun on the roof. She was doing her job, getting Jay out of there. “I’m with you, Jay. I’m here,” she whispered.
The door slammed shut, and the vehicle backed out toward the street. Her heart collided with her ribs. Caged by the crowd, she was powerless to get to him. She knew he was incapacitated by his guards, and more so by his nightmares. Would he come back for her?
Women flung themselves on the hood and against the windows, but he was safe inside. Good. That was good. His security did the right thing, her need for him be damned.
Suck it up. Jay was safe. She felt it in the slump of her shoulders and the looseness of her neck. She rolled her head back and glanced at the roof of her building. The hunkered shape was gone. Where was the sniper? Find Nathan.
The mob of fans and photographers thinned, spreading out as they chased the SUV down the street.
Heart pounding, face burning, she scrutinized the lingerers for blond hair, blue eyes, and a white button-up. Where the hell was he?
A gentle hand cupped her shoulder from behind and traveled over her collarbones to settle on her other shoulder. Oh, Nathan. She wanted to sag against him. “We need to get out of here.”
As she turned to face him, an unmoving figure caught her eye on the far side of the lot. Blond hair. White button-up. The man beside him held his hand beneath the cover of his jacket, pointing the bulge at Nathan.
A shiver swept through her. She lowered her eyes to the hand on her shoulder. Pale. Manicured. Cold. Her heart stumbled and her lungs seized all the air in the sky.
A chilling whisper snaked around her neck. “We’ll be out of here soon, so I can show you just how much I’ve missed you, beautiful girl.”
40
Charlee was an impulse away from stuffing Roy’s cold black heart with lead. The pistol at her lower back would do a bang up job, but her revenge would have to wait until she could assure Nathan’s safety.
Two years of slavery. A combined seven years of running. He stole nine of her twenty-five years. And he stole Noah. The burn to retaliate pumped as naturally through her veins as her blood.
She turned in the hook of his arm, rolling her hips forward to keep the bump of the gun concealed under the drape of her shirt, and looked up.
The baseball cap, oversized leather jacket, and jeans made him difficult to recognize. Roy Oxford did not do casual, but his countenance was its usual color of death. Icy. Bloodless. She wasn’t sure he was even breathing as he stared at her. Then he opened his mouth. “How convenient that I was only a four hour flight away when your photos went viral.” He tsked. “I thought better of you than to keep company with a litter of lowbred musicians. Though I’m not surprised to find the traitor, Nathan Winslow, amongst the trash.”
Furious dread balled up in her throat. Traitor meant he’d connected Nathan Winslow to Matthew Linden, which also meant Nathan had little chance of surviving the next few minutes.
“Tell me, Charlee.” The mouthwash on his breath was as aseptic as his expression. “Has he stuck his dick in you?”