“Bowen,” she whispered, taking a hesitant step toward him.
His haunted gaze made her flinch. She could see the emotional battle taking place on his face. Finger poised on the trigger, he clearly wanted to fire on the man who’d been holding her. Without saying a word, he tore his attention away from her, indicating her captor with a nod of his head. “He doesn’t go anywhere.”
Sera shivered under the iciness of his order. As she watched, the group of men behind Bowen converged on the car, keeping their weapons trained on the intruders. Two of Bowen’s guys lowered their weapons in favor of wrestling her captor to the ground. His friends watched helplessly, unable to lower their weapons and help their friend or they would risk being shot.
Finally, one of them cursed and shoved his gun into the waistband of his jeans, the others quickly following suit. They piled back into the car, leaving their friend behind as they peeled away from the curb.
Bowen jerked his chin at two men in his crew. “Follow them. This ends tonight.”
As they jogged off to follow Bowen’s dictate, he sauntered forward. Almost as an afterthought, he picked the bat up off the ground and went toward the man who’d been left behind. Dozens of patrons had spilled from Marco’s to witness the action, and they all watched in rapt silence now as Bowen tapped the bat against his palm. Every tap felt like a physical blow to Sera, who wanted desperately to wrap her arms around him and beg him to stop, but she couldn’t move. This man, this frozen, rage-filled version of Bowen…she didn’t know him.
He came to a stop directly over the left-behind crew member, twirling the bat in his hand. His gaze met hers for a brief, heavy second before he raised the bat and brought it down with enough force to make her gasp and jump back.
Her heart raced out of control, breath shallow in her ears. She was terrified to watch, to see the death her decision had caused.
The bat connected with the sidewalk beside the man’s head, sending shards of wood in every direction. Some members of the crowd reacted with relief, others with disappointment. The latter made her sick even as thankfulness swamped her.
He hadn’t done it.
Her stunning relief was short-lived.
Bowen crouched down and looked the cowering man square in the eye. “You.
Are a dead man.” Slowly and purposefully, he rose to his feet and held out a hand to her, his attitude daring her not to take it. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat and slipped her fingers against his cool palm, resisting the urge to snatch her hand back when she heard his low growl. One second she had both feet planted on the ground, the next he’d swung her up into his arms to carry her toward his car. She mentally begged him to look her in the eye as he settled her into the passenger seat and shut the door. Through the closed window, she heard him shout to his men, his words falling like boulders on her chest.
“You know where to take him. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
His order left no doubt as to what would happen when he got there. He planned to kill the man for what he’d done.
Sera vowed then and there she would do everything in her power to stop him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Twice in his life, he’d been scared.
The first time, his father had pointed a gun at Ruby. He’d been on the floor with a freshly broken arm, too far away to get between his sister and the bullet. From his position, he’d watched resignation transform her features, features so similar to his. It had been such an obvious acceptance of her own death, he’d almost looked away so it wouldn’t be etched on his memory, but somehow he’d
forced
himself
to
continue
watching. Somehow it would mean she didn’t
die
alone. So unfair, he remembered thinking. After the close calls and scrapes they’d been in, she wouldn’t even get the chance to fight.
All
of
it,
all
these
individual
catastrophes, took place within his mind in one second. The longest second of his life.
Until tonight.
He hated the feeling of fear. It slithered like a living thing through his veins, trying to shut him down. Out of self-preservation, he allowed the fear to close himself off to anything but burning, festering anger. He welcomed it. Let it become comfortable and focused on it.
Anything that would block out the image of Sera being choked, feet dangling in the air, hands clawing at her neck. If he let himself dwell on it, he knew with 100 percent certainty his world would implode.
The anger had a few different shapes, the first of which was directed at himself. He shouldn’t have left her alone, knowing she would take any opportunity to further her investigation.