Jake pulls me away and the case is pried from my white-knuckled fingers. My stomach lurches when I’m launched into the sky, my body airborne. Jake has hauled me up and hefted me over his shoulder, growling, “Have you lost your everloving mind?”
With adrenaline eclipsing all else, all I can do is grin, breathless, as he runs toward his car. This, right here and right now, is my proof that fate has a way of intervening. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for violence and chaos. It finds me, no matter where I go or what I do. I’m simply following the path created by destiny. I didn’t choose the badass life, the badass life chose me.
“I do believe I have,” I answer as I’m shoved into the back of Jake’s car. Moments later, the bloodied body of the injured guy is dumped beside me. The very second Jake and Rowan slide in the front, the car careens out of the parking lot behind the van. Dust and gravel fly out behind us as we fishtail out onto the road.
Leaning forward, I untuck my gun, check the chamber, and rest it on my lap. My gaze slides to the guy beside me. He’s sitting as far from me as possible, eyes shifting like a ping pong ball from my face to the gun and back again. He looks terrified. “Who are you?”
Rowan hoots from the front. “Don’t you know? She’s your worst nightmare.”
I hold out a hand toward him. “I’m Mac.”
He doesn’t take it. We literally just saved his life, and he’s staring at me like I’m about to shoot his face off. “Are you like, the police or something?”
“Or something,” I snap, my eyes dropping to his wound. “Rowan, give me your shirt.” Moments later, I’m handed a warm bunch of cotton. I shove it toward the guy. “Here. You’re bleeding all over Jake’s car.”
He takes it and presses it to his wound, hissing.
Catching a meaningful look between Jake and Rowan, my eyes narrow. “What the hell was that back there? What’s going on?”
Jake’s eyes fix on the road, his car eating up distance at warp speed. Rowan responds. “A robbery, maybe, I don’t know.”
I’m sceptical. It felt like we were specific targets. “Jake?”
“What Rowan said.” His voice is raspy, and he clears his throat. “The Bar does a rocking turnover. Lots of cash in the register.”
What he says makes sense, yet something feels off. I sit back in my seat, my hands linking together when I realise they’re trembling. Why am I shaking? Why is my stomach still pitching like its adrift at sea? Bile climbs my throat. It rushes upward at a burning pace, faster than I can swallow it back down. “Pull over,” I garble.
“What?” Jake half turns, taking his eyes from the road and glancing at me.
“Pull over!” I boom, heaving on the words.
Jake eases off to the side of the road. Sliding my gun to the seat, I give the injured guy a sharp look. “Touch that and I’ll cut you.” The words are meant to be harsh, but I expel them in a shrill voice with my desperate need to purge everything from my body.
“Mac? Are you okay?” Jake asks.
There’s no time to give the obvious answer. Shoving open the door, my legs give out. I drop to my hands and knees and hurl in a violent fashion. Rowan winds down his window and sticks his head out. “No rush, Mac,” he says mildly. “We only happen to have a guy in the back seat who’s been shot. But if you feel the need to puke, take your time. He doesn’t mind bleeding out all over the—”
“Shut the fuck up, Rowan,” Jake growls from somewhere near my ear. Then his hands are under my armpits and he’s lifting me. “Princess?” he says softly, cradling me against his warm chest as I breathe through another wave of nausea.
“I’m fine,” I slur, but in the dark recesses of my mind I know I’m not. There’s something wrong with my body. I’ve been off my game all week.
My eyes flutter closed and I hand control to Jake. I trust him with my life.
“Rowan, you drive,” he orders.
Jake slides into the passenger seat that Rowan quickly vacates. His hold is tight, and we drive to the hospital with me curled in his lap. It feels warm and safe. I drift in and out. When the car comes to a complete stop, my eyes open to mere slits. Headlights shine bright in the darkness, illuminating the side of Jake’s house. They switch off and night surrounds us.
“We’re home?” I mutter tiredly.
“We’re home,” Jake answers, his voice choked for reasons I don’t understand. Rowan is already out of the car and a quick glance shows an empty back seat. “What happened to—”
“He’s fine. He’s at the hospital.”
I’d slept through all of it. Why am I so tired?
Opening the car door, Jake slides out managing to hold me tight against him. When he stands, I’m still in his arms, his heart beating a soothing thump against the side of my face.
“I can walk,” I protest, though I make no move to stand.
“Let me carry you, Mac.” His grip tightens, and he brushes a kiss against the top of my head. “Please.”
JAKE
I’m standing in the living room, having carried Mac upstairs and left her sleeping in bed. When I come down, Rowan is perched on the edge of the armchair, filling Leander and Luke in on the night’s events.
Besides being a lead singer, Rowan is a friend and knows of our involvement in the King Street Boys. And he really is a stud for hire, just like he told Mac. He escorts his services out to any woman foolish enough to pay for what he gives away free every other night.
“What the hell is going on?” he asks, dragging fingers through his dark hair when he finishes the recount.
Leaning back against the wall, I fold my arms and fix my gaze on Leander. He’s watching me, eyes dark and serious. “You spoke to Ross, didn’t you?” I ask him.
He nods.
“About what?” Luke interjects.
Leander rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Little Fox.”
Luke looks at me. My stance is rigid and tension is rolling outward like gamma rays. “Oh,” he says. “Oh shit.”
“Oh shit puts it mildly,” I reply.
Leander snatches a packet of cigarettes from the coffee table that rests between us. Tapping one out, he puts it to his lips and lights it. After a long plume of smoke is exhaled, he says, “They’d rather see you dead then let you out.”
It’s the worst possible outcome. I’m a marked man. Mac could be killed simply by association. Or caught in the crossfire. Apprehension sends jitters through my stomach. Despite trying to quit the filthy habit, I reach for the cigarettes. If there’s ever a time for a nicotine fix, now is it.
Lighting it, I draw on the end. My chest expands and fills with smoke. It expels past my lips as I speak. “What did Ross say when you spoke to him?”
“He asked why.” Leander shrugs. “I told him you wanted the straight and narrow. That you don’t want to do this forever and that it’s better to get out now while you’re still young enough to find a better life.”
“Did you mention Mac?”
His expression is withering. “No, I didn’t mention Mac.”
“They shot at her,” I tell them all, my hand trembling as I bring the cigarette to my lips.
“And she shot back.” Rowan looks at me, shaking his head in wonder. “Your girl looks like some kind of angel, but holy shit she’s got some balls in those panties of hers!” He hoots. “She almost shot me in the junk!”