Chapter 40
Colt
Alistair taps my shoulder. “Denver asked you to meet her upstairs.” I grin, and he rolls his eyes. “Not for that.”
“You sure?” I ask as I step away from Charlie.
“Yep, but first”—he swats Taf’s arm and whistles at Ronan across the room—“all of you come with me.”
Taf and I share an intrigued look, and we follow Alistair out of the ballroom. We make our way to the empty hotel bar where I found Denver earlier, and Alistair says something to the bartender. She goes into the back and returns with a bag, handing it to him.
Ronan rests his elbow on the bar, and we watch Alistair take out five small, black boxes. He hands one to each of us, leaving the final one on the bar.
“This is the first time since we were kids that we’ll be separated, so I thought we should all have something,” Alistair says as I tilt open the box to reveal the Rolex. “Check the back.”
I lift it out of the velvet and turn it over. Inscribed on the back of the face is:
Hell of a way to go.
I smile and Taf laughs.
“Seriously? This is what you want us to remember?” Ronan asks, grinning wide.
Almost twelve years ago, on a shipment gone wrong, we were all close to death.
Trapped in a shipping container filled with guns, we were outnumbered, and none of us would admit we were terrified.
We were in way over our heads with the Russians, and while we accepted our fate, Wilder had said, “Hell of a way to go.”
I’d laughed. I couldn’t help it. Then Ronan had. Taf followed. Until we were all laughing so hard, we couldn’t breathe.
By some miracle, we made it out.
Alistair taps the unopened box. “I had to get Wilder one, too.”
I stand with my friends, brothers, who have been by my side since we were kids. Since we sat around that battered kitchen table, eating that good food my mom made, and promised to take over the city one block at a time.
We dreamed. We planned. We conquered.
“Gonna be fucking weird without you here,” Ronan says. “Sure you want to give this all up?”
My smile widens and I slip on the watch, fastening the clasp. “For Denver? Yes. No offence.”
“Speaking of, where is the bride?” Taf asks, admiring his watch. Alistair points up.
“Right,” I say. “I’ll catch you all later?”
I’m still smiling as I take the stairs. I could get the elevator now that Denver isn’t with me, but I think I need the extra time alone. It’s hard to imagine leaving my friends behind, even though I know it’s for the best. It’s a fresh start for the both of us.
I take the keycard out of my pocket and scan it.
“You called for me, wife,” I say as the door closes behind me. I check my phone, and an email about the new house pops up. I smile and tuck it back into my pocket, heading for the bedroom.
Something squelches under my shoe, and I frown, stopping.
A large, red stain is on the carpet.
My heart slams into overdrive. “Del!” I’m steps from the bedroom, and I stop in the doorway.
The room blurs around me, my entire focus the far side of the room, where Ranger sits against the far wall.
Cradling Denver in his arms.
His face is wet with tears, and he’s staring at her. Her head is back, eyes closed, red blooming across the front of her wedding dress.
“This is your fault,” he whispers.
I’m warring between falling to my knees and racing to action, and the indecision keeps me fixed in place.
For seconds.
I stride over and tuck my hands under Denver, tugging her out of Ranger’s hold.
“It’s too late.” His voice is croaky. “She’s already dead.”
The words fall over me like hardened rain, but I refuse to believe it. Refuse to listen. Refuse, refuse, I fucking refuse.
My strides eat up the space between me and the door. Denver is light in my arms, her head resting against my chest, but I won’t check her pulse. I have to believe it’s there. I have to.
“This is your fault, Colt!” Ranger shouts after me as the door closes. I stride down the hallway, holding her, ignoring the blood seeping from her to my shirt.
“This isn’t it, Del,” I say, taking the stairs as fast as I can. “You can hear me. I know you can. Hold on.”
Alistair does a double take when I reach the lobby. His eyes widen. “Colt—”
“Car.”
He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t hesitate. He’s out the door, and we pass gaping guests as I cradle my wife in my arms. My wife. My Del. Alive, alive, alive.
“What the fuck happened?” Alistair asks as I get into the back with Denver. He starts the engine and peels away from the hotel, the tires screaming against the street.
“Ranger,” I say, taking off my tuxedo jacket and pressing it into Denver’s chest. She doesn’t move.
Her eyelids don’t flicker. She doesn’t cry out in pain.
“Del.” I cup her cheek, still too much of a coward to touch her neck.
“Del, open your eyes for me. Please.” I kiss her, squeezing my eyes closed. “Please, Del. Don’t leave me.”
Nothing.
I kiss her, and her lips are cold.
I hug her to me.
Screeching tires. Blaring horns. My fingers are numb as I hold my jacket against Denver in an effort to stop the bleeding. My mind and vision soften. The lights blur beyond the windows, and I hold her tighter.
Maybe I can keep her warm.
Maybe I can keep them both warm.
The car stops.
I’m walking.
Calling for help in a white hallway.
And then she’s gone. Wheeled away from me.
I’m floating. My body isn’t my own. Her wedding dress is red. Her face is pale.
I didn’t keep her warm enough.
Shouts, and orders, and needles.
A line on a screen that should be pulsing.
I wait for spikes on that line that don’t come.
Denver’s body jerks as they try to bring her back to me.
I blink and a tear falls down my cheek, cold before it frees itself from my body and lands on the floor.
The doctor has stopped.
Why has he stopped?
“Time of death, ten-oh-seven—”
I keep blinking. He pulls off his gloves, the latex snap loud as he looks at me, expression mournful. He’s apologizing. He’s so sorry, he says. Nothing to be done, he says.
Someone screams and I lift my head as Ranger walks into the ER, his gun still in his hand. He’s staring at Denver. He’s covered in blood.
Her blood.
“Colt—” Alistair tries to fight me off, but my hand is already in his jacket, unholstering his gun.
The world slows, people scream, but Ranger never takes his eyes off Denver.
Not when I fire three shots into his chest.
Not when I put a bullet in his head.
He slumps to the ground and the room is quiet, people hiding behind beds and desks, some crying.
I wipe my eyes and look back at the doctor as he cowers by Denver.
“Try again,” I say, but he doesn’t move. I point the gun at him. “Try again!”
He gets to his feet. “Uh—push two of epi—”
“Colt?” A familiar voice. Sebastian. “What’s going on?” But I don’t need to answer, because he sees her. He shakes his head and strides over, shoving the other doctor aside. He says her name. He’s shouting instructions.
Charge.
Clear.
A solid, flat line.
Charge.
I said charge!
Clear.
“Come on, Denver,” Sebastian says. “We just found you. We just—” He brings the flat of his fist against her chest, a solid thump. “Denver—” Again. And again.
Wake up, Denver.
Wake up.