41. Trips
Chapter 41
Trips
W alker gets us moving, but I’m not worried about the route we take to get out of here. No, I’m fucking locked on Clara, slumped on the floor in the back of the van, shaking, her eyes wide, a grin stretched across her face.
“Holy fucking shit,” she says, and I totally agree.
Jansen scoops her up, spinning her, totally forgetting we’re in a small as shit van, RJ diving to keep anything from being broken. “You were amazing, beautiful! That was so incredible! You’re absolutely perfect, Clara, perfect!” He kisses her, and my stomach rolls.
Clara’s feet back on the ground, RJ pulls her to his chest, pressing his lips to hers, a sweet thing, not a mouth-fuck like Jansen, and I’m floored. “You were magic, sugar,” he whispers.
RJ too? When? How?
What is it with this girl and my whole damn team ?
I’m all ready to yell, the fear that drenched me when she dashed toward men with guns overwhelming, needing a target, but then she sways on her feet. She giggles, her hands shaking, tears glistening, and I rush forward, crushing her to my chest. “You fucking crazy-ass chick,” I grumble into her hair, the scent of flowers intoxicating.
Her hands reach around my back, pulling me closer, and something settles inside me, the anger I felt watching her with the other guys dissipating. Her knees give out, and I catch her, scooping her into my lap as I sit on the built-in bench.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I ask, keeping her as close as I can.
A few tears trickle down her cheeks, giggles shaking her in my lap. “I think you’re supposed to say thank you, Trips.”
Jansen drops to his knees next to her, plucking up one of her hands and kissing the back of it. “I can say thank you easily. Thank you, Clara. I don’t know how I would have gotten out of that without you.”
“Jansen gets a cookie!” she giggles, more tears streaming down her cheeks. “No cookies for you, Trips.”
“You’re fucking ridiculous,” I say, wishing I could stop her trembling.
RJ’s focused on his computer, the tension in his shoulders letting me know that it’s not done. Not yet. Clara’s running her hands through Jansen’s hair, and part of me wants to snatch her fingers away, but with each stroke, she’s shaking less, so I guess I’m just going to have to live with this weird setup for now.
“Turkey Mask got away,” RJ announces .
“Who cares,” Jansen says, leaning into Clara’s touch, pulling out what’s left of his ponytail. “I got the document. We won. We’re not going to see that team again.”
“True,” RJ says, still monitoring the fallout from that fucking shit show. We are never doing a battle royale again. Too many variables. There’s no way I could plan for that level of chaos. It was too dangerous, and if Jansen had been caught…
I’ve heard of O’Malley’s operation. My father’s used him a few times for “belligerent bastards,” and those families will never find so much as a finger bone of those would-be whistleblowers.
I shudder. Clara turns to press her hand to my chest, and I forget to breathe. “It was risky, Trips, but we couldn’t just leave Jansen there. And there wasn’t really time to walk you through what I was thinking, you know?”
Her eyes are dark in the dull light of the back of the van, glassy still, even though the adrenaline surge is winding down. I swallow, the intensity of that gaze sinking into a part of me I thought I’d lost before I was a teenager, jagged sparks lighting up the empty space where my heart should be. I manage a nod.
She looks away, and I can breathe again, thank God. Oxygen is necessary for my damned brain to function.
Placing Clara in Jansen’s lap on the floor, I tell myself it isn’t running away this time. I have to let Jasmine know we got the document.
But I know the truth—I’m a goddamned coward.