CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
AINSLEY
T he walls are closing in on us. The only specks of light are the spots shining from the phones, illuminating our claustrophobic hiding place. And beyond the border, the cracks and cries of doomsday explode. This is either our route to escape or our dark march to the end.
My gut shouts the latter.
“We have to go,” she insists. “This is the only way.”
The only way is debatable. I’ve been here before—one of those crossroads in life where there’s no good path. Into the line of fire to be lynched or into the walls to helplessly listen to the end of my world? Running toward what?
Neither direction will provide deliverance.
We were supposed to hold on. That’s what we agreed. What if he dies out there?
I glance around the crowded space, trying to decide if I stay by their side or return to his. They shower me with opinions and orders, but my brain is too chaotic to hear them.
Who am I? The hunter or the hunted? The fugitive or the free?
None of that matters anymore. His.
Family means sacrifice.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s go.”
She wastes no time, expecting me to follow. So, I hike up my skirt and jaunt after her in my Louboutins. Who makes a break for it in three-inch heels?
With every hushed clomp of our steps, my mind rewinds the day, replaying everything I can remember in the hopes of figuring out where it all went wrong.
I start with five hours ago—when I showed up to be the lamb.
Axel holds out his hand to me as we enter his penthouse. “How were your accommodations last night?”
I take it and return the cordial shake. “Wonderful. Thank you for arranging for us to come early.”
Their residence is stunning, even more upscale than the gorgeous suite we’re staying in. Part of the charm is the vibrant life emanating from it, along with the Art Deco vibes. The whole resort drips with 1920s nostalgia, and this space pulses with that history.
“Of course,” he says before hugging Rena and welcoming the rest of our crew with an easy back-and-forth that’s obviously a product of time and trust.
My chest constricts. It’s been challenging to manage my nerves. The deepfake we posted about a week ago was a success. Well, I suppose that’s a matter of perspective. Everyone else views it as a success.
The team that the Morellis and Vittoris sent to the Maldives didn’t bomb the residence. They approached with care and accepted the meeting details, extending their appreciation for the opportunity and claiming that they look forward to discussing matters with me, that they simply wish to be reunited with family.
So, either they want something—and I have no idea what that could be, certainly nothing worth globe-trotting for—or they knew it was a setup and feigned cooperation so they could kill me later. They’ve effectively convinced Jared and Payne that I am undoubtedly the key to everything KORT wants.
I might be a guest at this luxurious resort today, but it’s much like fattening the lamb before slaughter. Tonight, I’ll be the offering on the altar.
For a split second, the notion of running flits through my mind, along with an internal, bloodcurdling scream. I can envision myself fleeing. Like a crazed woman in a Hitchcock film. I think my grasp on sanity has depleted. Scary. It was probably deficient from the start.
Axel turns back to me when four other men pour into the space, likely Rena’s other brothers. His hand slides over my shoulder, nudging me toward them. “This is Ainsley, guys, the only woman who can manage to clamp Gage’s balls like a goddamn vise.”
Everyone laughs as the four men—dangerously attractive and all sporting a nefarious air—storm me for an official introduction.
The first one, Ryker, has a rigid edge and an intensity that rolls off him. His smile is wide as he razzes Gage. And there’s a genuine twinkle in his light-blue eyes.
Jax—I could’ve picked him out of a crowd. He looks exactly like his sister described him, from the blue hair to the piercings and colorful tats to the tortured spirit and gentle soul. And they are clearly deeply connected. Mid-greeting, he tugs Rena into his arms.
They all take turns fawning over her after that. It’s as captivating to witness as watching Gage’s family bounce off each other.
Maddox and Cash seem to be more trouble than anyone would be prepared for—a one-way ticket to Satan’s playground.
“So, this is Ainsley. Radiant.” Maddox lifts my hand high into the air with a predatory gawk roving over my curves. Bold with Gage a few feet behind me. His look shouts that fact though. His onyx-black hair is pulled back, but a few strands fall around his face, highlighting his wintry eyes. And like Gage, most of his skin is covered in tattoos.
“Gage’s girl,” Cash corrects, moving in and licking his lips. His appearance is a tad softer. Maybe it’s the tousled blond hair, lending a boyish charm. Until you land on his smile—pure mayhem. “Unless that’s still … pending?” He leans in close, but doesn’t lower his voice. “Because if either of you aren’t all in , we take that very seriously around here. We could sweeten the pot.”
A beefy arm—one that has strapped me down countless times now—hooks around my waist, hauling me backward before Gage’s scruff bristles against my cheek, his tone eerily calm. “Keep going, Cash. I dare you.” He bites my neck, bumps erupting over my skin from the contact. “Not only will I end you, but I’ll have my wicked girl here rip out your throat with her teeth before we go all in on top of you.”
Assuming this is similar to the KORT meeting prank, I play along, keeping my eyes cold and chomping my teeth at Cash with a warning growl. His whole face lights up in response.
Gage roars his delight as he lifts me off the ground and plants a kiss on my temple. “That’s my filthy girl.”
“Jesus, fuck,” Ryker crows with a boisterous laugh that harmonizes with the cackles from the rest of the room. “Break out the Old Rip Van Winkle 25 Year for this asshole.” He shoots an astonished scowl at Axel. “I didn’t fucking believe you.”
A warmth spreads through me. Gage’s interest in other women was so nonexistent that this is the second time a room has been brought to hysterics over the mere idea of him being in a relationship with one. So, maybe I should just soak in the beauty of that. How many people get the one more day they prayed for? I’ve had several weeks.
But, fuck, I want more.
And this day is dressed in endings.
I watched a creepy documentary once about this single mom. Her five-year-old daughter insisted that she’d never see age thirteen. When the girl became adamant about it, the mother carted her to doctors and therapists, but all the girl would say is that she could see it and there was milk. That was hair-raising in itself, but what made it worse was that the mother moved. She worked two jobs so they could live in a safer neighborhood. And yet wouldn’t you know that when the little girl was twelve, she was abducted from a convenience store? When the clerk was interviewed, he said she’d disappeared while he was mopping up spilled milk. The little girl’s body was found three weeks later. A cryptic spin on the spilled-milk idiom.
Morbid. I know. I’m in a bad place. Frantic that tomorrow is the day I’ll never see.
As the Noire brothers whip out glasses and the over-the-top celebratory bottle of bourbon, I spin in Gage’s arms and whisper, “Thank you.”
His ambers meander over my face. “For what, baby?”
My heart hammers everywhere—temples, toes, throat, sternum. “For telling me the truth. For hating other women. At least for a while and in terms of romance. For being mine.”
“Always yours, Ains.” He captures my lips, brushing my hair back from my face, and kisses me with abandon in front of his family and the disbelieving Noires.
And that’s when it hits me—why I craved him railing me in front of Dante and didn’t care that he left the window open when I was tied to his desk or announced to his family that he’d be making me scream. Because our love was once a secret. One I wasn’t allowed to boast about and was never permitted to grieve. So, this is … everything.
“Can you help get me out of my head later?” I plead against his mouth, and the determined expression he flaunts tells me he grasps all the unspoken.
“Later,” he agrees with a nip on my lower lip.
We gather around their long dining table for dinner, and much of the conversation fades in and out for me, but no one presses me to engage. I’m present but preoccupied with all that we’ll be facing.
Eventually, they snatch my attention back by assuring me all guests of the resort have been thoroughly vetted, that they’re scanning everyone who enters, and that IDs and the code for the meeting will be necessary for entrance tonight. Jared and Payne will be joining us remotely. The Morelli and Vittori representatives aren’t permitted to arrive until twenty minutes prior to our scheduled time. And I won’t be involved until there is clarity on what they expect. I’ll be in a private room that will require coded entrance, disguised, and surrounded by guards.
It sounds solid. I should relax, ignore the nagging pang in my gut.
Thankfully, Ryker bulldozes over my anxiety into something else entirely. He pushes his plate away and pins Ivy with a stern glare. “Tell me she fucking agreed.”
Ivy’s shoulders droop on a sighed, “No.”
“Why the fuck not?” he grits out. “This is ridiculous. Since when am I the fucking bad guy?”
Gage and I are seated in the middle of the table. Rena and Ty are across from us. There’s another conversation developing at the other end among Liam, Celeste, and the more mischievous Noires. From what I can gather, that one is a story about cockfighting gone wrong. Funny. But Ivy and Ryker appear to be discussing some erasing client, so I cast my attention back there.
“You’re definitely not.” Ivy wipes her hands, her half-eaten meal abandoned. “Mercy doesn’t think that, and she’d be furious if she thought I gave you that impression.”
“Then what?” He stares at her for a few beats before he draws his own conclusion, worry etching his forehead. “She’s struggling?”
Ivy’s eyes dart to Ty and Wells before she shrugs. “She asked us for a loan, which we’re—”
“It’s never easy for the pro-bono clients,” Ty jumps in, somewhat defensively. “She’s been working a lot, but rent went up, and … we don’t do loans. It’s messy. Too much of a trail to manage. We’re happy to give it to her, but she’s—”
“As stubborn as a goddamn mule,” Ryker fills in. “I’ll get you a bank transfer. Arrange it so she thinks she won a lottery or something. Make some shit up. I don’t care.”
“No,” Ty argues. “She was clear she didn’t want your financial involvement, but we can make the same arrange—”
“Fuck that,” Ryker snipes, hand smacking the table. “That was years ago. And she didn’t want me involved because she thought I’d interfere with her relocation. I still don’t know where the fuck she is. She won that round. Give me this.”
Ivy studies him, the conflict warring inside her evident. “There’s no guarantee that if she’s doing better, she’ll change her mind about seeing you.”
“I’ll worry about that,” he insists, sliding his chair back and downing the rest of his bourbon. “I can’t sleep if I don’t know she’s safe. I refuse to leave her out there somewhere, broke and struggling while she’s raising Jett alone.” He plants his gaze on Ty. “After the way you lost your mind over Rena being gone for a couple of weeks, your perspective on this should be different.”
A resigned groan escapes Ty. “It is. Get us the transfer.”
“Thanks.” Axel lifts his drink, just as his phone rings. “That will give him some peace of mind.”
He answers without a word, holds it up to his ear, and listens for a long minute. “If it’s venomous, kill it. If not, get Thatch. He’ll relocate it. As far as the aged beef”—his sapphires coast toward Gage with amusement—“there is nothing we can do. The largest distributor is out of commission, and seeing as it is aged, it’s not something we can simply pick up. I’ll speak with Maddox about the delivery issue. Have the whales arrived? Good. Bernard has their requests.”
After ending the call, he addresses the table since all eyes are parked on him. “I don’t ordinarily handle the daily grind. Hospitality boils down to extinguishing one fire after another. Our managers do that. But when we have delicate meetings scheduled, I like to be made aware of anything out of the ordinary. Today, that happens to be a snake found in the luggage-holding room, my head chef at L’ange Noire throwing a hissy fit about his aged beef supply being out, and an unexpected delivery.” His stern leer shoots daggers at Maddox and Cash. “Want to explain that?”
Neither of them can hide their devious grins, but Maddox finally raises his palm. “I got it. No worries.”
I enjoy snakes about as much as cockroaches, so the sighting mentioned is an ominous sign of impending doom. Although the cockroaches led me to Gage and his family, so maybe I’m simply conjuring up bad omens. Searching for spilled milk.
Our dinner party disbands after that, everyone dispersing into small groups. Gage and some of the guys indulge in another drink. Rena hangs with Jax. Ivy hassles Axel about the whales who are staying here, eager to see if they’re politicians. They aren’t, but she’s still intrigued. It’s a group of nine to twelve billionaires who tend to book spur-of-the-moment games.
Celeste ushers me to Rena’s old bedroom, where a dress, heels, and mask await me. “Get ready. Go have some fun with your man.”
I laugh, staring at a flapper-inspired dress. It’s embellished with crystals, including the fringe that drapes down one side, but is otherwise sheer, creating the illusion of only wearing beads to cover the essentials. A sweetheart neckline. Short. Strapless. Sexy.
“That is far from negotiation attire. I’ll be wearing a cat suit—arguably just as sexy—and carrying a chain-fed automatic weapon.”
She frowns at me.
“Okay. They won’t let me have the chain-fed automatic, but the point is, I’ll be ready to run.”
“Ainsley, breathe.” She drags me into a hug. “It’s okay. The guys have everything under control. This will all be over soon.”
The only reason she’s even here is because should something go wrong, the guys didn’t want her and Rena too far, causing us to separate. They’ve even got Felicity staying with Natasha, Daniel O’Reilly, and a slew of guards at a nearby hotel for the same reason. But there’s no sense in worrying Celeste.
“Right,” I sigh. “And Gage—”
“Is the one who arranged this,” she finishes. “It’ll be quick, but still a break.”
He listened when I told him I needed a distraction and went to the trouble of planning something. Clothing wasn’t required for that, but still … I can’t deny how it excites me. So, I go with it, dolling myself up and sauntering out to find him. But on the way, I overhear a snippet of something I shouldn’t.
“You’ll be using Knox to trace it?” That’s Axel’s voice, which tells me this is not a conversation for my ears.
“You got someone better?” Ryker asks.
“I might,” Axel says. “Start with him though. He’s good.”
Eavesdropping on a KORT chair—one who is currently in favor of protecting me—is a recipe for disaster. That may or may not be about the Mercy situation they were discussing at dinner, but I can’t risk sticking around to find out. It’s better if I don’t know.
Instead, I strut out to Gage, working this ensemble with all I’ve got. And as if he can sense me, he spins the second I round the corner.
“Fuck me,” he spits—utterly delicious in his black button-up and suit jacket, paired with jeans—his hand scrubbing over his mouth as his eyes rake over me.
And like they’ve been since that first day, those ambers are my undoing. Chills race across my skin. My heart hammers against my breastbone and ribs. My stomach does this flippy thing for a man I saw a half hour ago. I can’t imagine that ever changing though.
We’re completely different people, and still, all these years later, my soul knows who to reach for.
He sweeps me into his arms before I realize I froze. “You’re breathtaking. Lethal. I’m going to fucking devour you,” he growls into my neck.
I nibble on his ear. “Well, don’t take all night about it. I’ve got a date with some Mafia guys later.”
He straightens up and glares at me. “Over my dead fucking body.”
“Not funny,” I return.
The consequences of us failing slice through me. How the hell will we manage to emerge from this unscathed?
Tension builds between us. So palpable that it’s like a third party involved. Anxiety has us both rearing to fight, but I don’t want it to be with him. Not today.
“You’re getting me out of my head, right?”
“Among other things. Let’s go.” He taps my mask, and we both put one on.
They’re fairly commonplace at La Lune Noire—a tool allowing the resort to transform you into whoever you want to be. Without one, he’s just as recognizable to the enemy as I am now.
Axel, Ryker, Cash, and Liam escort us down to Magie Noire, which isn’t where I was expecting to go. But I’m not mad about it. A thrill rockets through my bones. I’ve never been anywhere like this.
The guys guard the exits while Gage tows me into a stunning ballroom—globed chandeliers, a deep emerald on the walls with gold trim, extending to the high ceiling. The lighting is dim, ethereal, lending a butterscotch ambience.
The setup is similar to a theater—with a stage at the front and various plush couches and chairs. It’s only about half full. Most people don’t pay us any notice, their eyes glued to the stage or their partner. We’re obviously late. There is currently a performance involving one woman and three men. It’s erotic, but not what I would have pictured. Their movements are slow, swanlike. The opposite of what Gage and I traditionally engage in, which has me enchanted.
“We’re watching?” I ask over my shoulder.
He selects a wide chair at the back, pulling it flush with the wall so no one will be behind us. Once he sits, he tugs me down to his lap, his hand immediately clamping onto my bare thigh as his lips move against my ear. “You watch them, Wicked. And I’ll watch you.”
His scruff bristles my cheek, and a shiver racks through my limbs, rushing straight for my core.
This is certainly working as a distraction. I’m completely immersed—the instrumental music, ballet-like choreography. While we saw a more traditional sex-club scene on the way in, this isn’t anything I could have envisioned. I mean, it’s hot and sensual. But it’s deeper. A story.
The woman lies on a grand bed, placed center stage. One man teases her mouth with his cock while she arches and reaches for more, only for him to retreat. The other two men caress her inner thighs, feathering taunts over her pussy, never giving her what she’s desperate for, even as she fights for it. And still, they stay in sync, all of them tumbling off the bed to leap into another dance, touching her so her knees weaken and tossing her between them. As though they know her body better than she does.
It’s beautiful. Fluid. The push and pull. The tug-of-war and giving in. The promise of more.
And eventually, she submits, crawling onto the bed and binding her own ankles and wrists. Her reward is ecstasy.
Fuck. I’m so turned on.
“Wish you were up there?” Gage rasps in my ear as his fingers crawl beneath my skirt.
I reach my hand behind me, hooking it on the nape of his neck to hold him close. “No.” A flash of us up there nearly knocks me over, and my pulse thumps as I amend my answer. “I like the thought of being up there with you.”
His only response is yanking my panties down and issuing an order. “Off.”
Without hesitation, I let them slide to the floor, scoop them up, and place them in his waiting palm as his fingers on the other hand thrust into me.
“So goddamn wet. It’s you, me, and your dirty mind, baby. I’ll worship you however you want.” He plunges inside me and bites my shoulder, a combination that instantly has me heady as I watch the show, my ears perking up for the occasional moan that transcends the musical notes.
All of it hauls me under, like I’m drowning in an ocean of lust. Sinking lower and lower until the surface is a distant memory. It floods me so heavily that I don’t even question it when he lifts me, guiding me over his length, my dress hiking up to my waist. I go willingly. Eagerly.
The position has him so deep, his size nearly impossible to accommodate. But as he moves us in the rhythm of the ballet, swirling my clit in the same tempo with interspersed flicks, he fulfills me in a way that has the room—the stage and chandeliers, onlookers and performers—all blurring to streaks of goldenrod and toffee. Shades of orange.
Everything outside of us is a waterlogged echo.
As if only we exist.
He whispers his filthy words in my ear, but my brain can’t hold them.
I’m lost.
And found.
Here with this man.
Ripples of all I’ve ever wanted romp around us, like soothing circles made by skipping stones.
His free hand slinks inside my top, tweaking my nipple for pain-laced pleasure. It only enhances the fervid haze swallowing me as he bestows his liberating fusion of praise and degradation. “You’re a fucking dream. You like being exposed? Knowing they can see you’re mine? See the pretty pussy I get to feast on? Watch what I do to you? How you’re my perfect whore?”
“God, yes.” My voice is so hoarse with desire. It doesn’t belong to the girl who spent a decade enslaved. There’s no fear or weakness or steel walls. No shame or regret.
There’s only the man with amber eyes.
My head falls back against his shoulder as I glide my hand over his, my dress wriggling down in the process, leaving me bare to him. The room. Everyone.
And like the capering on the stage, we push and pull, bounce and swivel. Swaying in a cadence that has me flying back to the surface, lungs burning, limbs floating. Core surging.
“That’s my girl.” Thrust. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” Swipe. “People can’t take their eyes off you, baby.” Ram. “Show them what a filthy slut you are, coming on my cock, right here.” Whirl. “Let the whole world see how you fall apart for me. Only me.”
And I do. So engulfed in us that I don’t tamp down the whimpers and moans that lurch from my raw throat as I suck the air into my lungs, splashing through my climax like an awakening.
Revved and wired to lazy and loose. Every cell tingles.
“Jesus,” I hiss, my eyes popping open to absorb the scene beyond my mask.
Several spectators nod in awe as my chest heaves, and Gage spills into me with his own hushed grunts against my sticky skin.
He shakes, trembling through aftershocks, but still regains himself quickly to straighten my dress and cover me up. It takes a few long minutes for us to drift down from that high. His arms cinch around me, his forehead pressed to my temple, jagged breaths fanning my neck.
“Just the beginning, Wicked. We’ll live out all your fantasies,” he promises.
And the strangest inkling chokes me. That he needed to say that in our bubble while we were submerged in the ocean of our tomorrows. It’s a stupid, passing thought. And yet …
The tiny hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand up. It feels like I’m being watched. Not like our dance. Like before. Like the lamb.
I stand with my heart in my throat, smooth out my dress, and peer around the ballroom. Gage rises beside me, studying my anxiety and gripping my hand. We scurry back to the exit, meeting the guys. They escort us out a back way.
Our whole crew is waiting there, which has me expelling a sigh of relief. Something about us all being together is a shield. The armor I never knew I needed, but couldn’t bear to live without now. I never intended for Gage to desert them when I asked him if he’d give them up for me a few weeks ago. But I needed to understand him, what they shared. It was daunting—still is. And yet even if he had said yes, I wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t be him without them.
Wells nudges us toward the private hallway outside Magie Noire. “Time to get ready.”
That simple statement propels me back to reality, reminding me that, in two hours, I’ll be fodder for a Mafia deal, and even the people on my side will be at the bartering table in the hopes of winning something other than my freedom.
Images of the Hitchcock screamer, snakes, and spilled milk overwhelm me, all of it splattered in crimson, so I stuff them down and bask in the blissful remembrance of my exhibitionism.
It’s an easy route back to our suite, one used by the employees and the Noire brothers. We breeze through a few hallways, Axel and Ryker leading the way while Cash and our guys all fall behind, sandwiching the women.
“Worth it?” Celeste sidles up beside me, arching a brow and giving me a sly smile as Ivy giggles and hooks her arm with mine.
“Girl,” Rena chimes in, “it’s all in the glow. Look at her. Definitely worth it.”
It was. And as we march up the stairs and weasel through the room-service staging area, I’m hit with how astounding it is that Gage could read my mind, know what I craved, and was able and willing to create the perfect outlet for me to release some stress.
He’s never stopped seeing me. And maybe he hasn’t said it in this new life, but it feels like he loves me. Or maybe it’s that I’m in love with him. It’s different for me. I never stopped. But I’m in love enough for both of us, even if he’s not completely there yet. Although, with all the claiming business, he must be. Maybe we’re both just scared.
Still, I argue with Rena’s assessment. “You can’t see if I’m glowing. I’m wearing a m—”
A blast from somewhere outside eats up my words, the lights, and the resort’s sanity. We’re instantly blanketed in darkness and chaos. The thunder of the frenzied employees is as alarming as the explosion.
They panic and bolt.
Carts topple. Dishes and trays clatter in a deafening spill.
We have to get out of here. People die in stampedes.
“Must’ve blown the generator too.” That’s Axel, but I can’t make out Ryker’s response.
A myriad of orders bellows from our men. They’re collected, even surrounded by utter bedlam. But distant. It’s then that I realize the girls and I have been separated, shoved to the other side of the room-service staging area. Or inside it?
All this occurs in seconds. Ten. Fifteen, tops. So, I know Gage will make his way over here if we just remain calm while they secure the area.
My heart thrashes in warning. I should have my fucking gun. I’m an unarmed sitting duck. But there’s no way for anyone to identify me in the midst of this disorder. Adhering ourselves to the wall and allowing the flurry to ensue around us is our best bet.
The girls must be disoriented by the mayhem because we’re migrating farther away.
“Don’t move,” I whisper to them, a beat before I’m pushed and pulled and dropped on my ass. Kicking and fighting until I discover who has me.
The memory of the day wanes, and reality slams into me. I’m inside the walls of La Lune Noire, chasing after Rena in my three-inch heels, with Celeste and Ivy following behind.
The Scrabble phrase Gage laid out yesterday haunts me— hold on .
“Gage is going to be livid,” I mutter, realizing my mask must’ve fallen off in the scuffle. “Scared. They all will be.”
Rena peers over her shoulder. “I texted Ty.”
“And I messaged our encrypted chat,” Ivy adds.
“Good,” Rena replies. “It wasn’t safe for us to wait there. We’re not properly armed.”
“That’s valid.” My stomach knots. I’m not entirely sure we’re safer inside these walls. It’s dank. “So, what weapons do we have, where are we going, and what are the chances we’ll have a run-in with a snake?”
“Don’t ask that,” Celeste chastises.
“I always have my pistol,” Ivy says, casting her phone light around the tunnel to investigate as we trek forward. “Lettie doesn’t have hers.”
Celeste groans, but doesn’t argue. Despite the endearing nickname, I’m guessing they already exchanged harsh words about that.
“Okay.” Rena stops, and our beloved spunky Bratz doll takes charge, like a complete badass. “I wanted to get us away from that area. We can slow down. I’ve got my pistol too. We’re headed to an area on the roof of the South Tower. I don’t think we should stay inside the walls. Safe from people, but, yeah … summer in Louisiana means critters, especially in the dark. Keep up. We’re making a pit stop.”
We trudge on, and the echoes of chaos reverberate through the plaster, various degrees of intensity. That doesn’t mean much to me since our route is winding. We’ve ramped up and made several turns. I have no idea where we are.
Eventually, Rena halts, scans her fingerprint on a reader connected to a vent, and fills us in. “The scanner is on a battery backup for this type of situation.”
Spinning to the opposite wall, she opens a panel. This place lends a whole new meaning to clandestine affairs. I’m in awe.
She steers us inside, shining her phone light around. “Load up, ladies.”
I gasp, cataloging the guns, ammo, knives, and grenades. “You’ve got a fucking armory in the walls.”
She flaps her hand, shooing that nonsense away. “This is only a stash—a place to stock up until we can reach our primary armory. Noires don’t fuck around.”
Ivy laughs. “God, I love you.”
“No shit,” I hiss, loading two palm-size 1911s and shoving them into the top of my dress. “I’m kind of obsessed with you three.”
“Insanity does love company,” Celeste quips. “This is one hell of a pit stop .”
Rena points a finger at her. “Don’t go bragging about being the sane one in this bunch. Crazy saves lives.”
No one can argue with that, especially at the moment.
Cum drips down my inner thigh, so in addition to my certifiable side, I expose my depravity. “You don’t happen to have any panties in here, do you?”
They all burst out laughing, but Rena reaches into her magic backpack and pulls out a pair, along with a CZ Scorpion—her pistol. Nothing to see here, folks.
I shimmy into them quickly before grabbing two automatics and a knife while Ivy picks a couple of guns for herself and Celeste, and Rena fills her bag up with a generous stash of weapons and ammo. They are seriously the coolest women I’ve ever known.
“C’mon.” Rena urges us back out, allowing the armory to lock before she guides us up several inclines, and we dip into a hidden stairwell. “Five flights up.”
“How many of these passageways are there?” I ask.
“There are tunnels all over the resort, one of the keepsakes from our alleged illegal Prohibition activity. And then my father and Axel built more in the expansion areas.” She guides us into another passage and sighs, “Home sweet home.”
I keep pace with her, noting the twinkling of city lights up ahead, and clutch her arm to pull her back. “We need to clear it, even if it’s secret.”
Ivy echoes that, and Rena nods. So, the four of us step out with our backs to the wall and survey the partially covered rooftop area. There are two high walls and two low. The space is vast and square with one tier higher. Even with the extra effort to scout the few blind spots, it only takes a minute to get the all clear.
There’s a humid summer breeze, salty with a hint of the floral magnolias. The fresh air hits my lungs as I perch on one of the parapets, the one that overlooks New Orleans. The canopy of stars hovers close, as if we were in it. And the city thumps with activity.
For the briefest spell, I forget who I am and drink it all in.
The freedom. The spirit. The family.
But then I feel it. And I remember.
We all do.
I’m the hunted.
Everything happens at once.
A stretch of five hammering beats. Five rapid breaths.
Rena jumps on Celeste while shooting at the sky and screaming something indecipherable, her words devoured by the cracking gunfire. They spring over the other short wall, plummeting to whatever lies below.
Ivy is near the small bar area, so she didn’t see them jump. But she noted the direction Rena shot, so she crouches low and sprays the area with covering fire through an opening to the upper tier. Still, because of the slant of the awning, she can’t see what Rena was shooting at from that angle.
But I can.
My gaze locks with our assailant. He’s well concealed, except for the eyes that I silently pleaded with for years, the ones that swept over my curves with ideas that should’ve gotten him killed, and the very ones I stared into after killing my husband and father.
Levi.
He always lets me go.
I see his decision a half second before he makes it, so I shoot.
And run.
“Jump,” I scream as I dart into his line of fire, but Ivy doesn’t budge.
I drop one of my automatics, ram into her like a linebacker, hoist her up, and throw her off the roof, hoping to hell Rena knew what she was doing and assuming it’s better than a bullet. The momentum tugs me to follow her over, but I fight it. And as Ivy soars, I twist back to take aim. My high heel snaps with the spin, and Levi’s shot hits my thigh.
Searing pain.
I stumble backward. An ungraceful tumble over the wall, flipping me head over stupid fucking heels.
My weapons fly. Shoes fall. Even the stars shake.
But I glimpse the girls. Safe.
Family means sacrifice.
A sharp whack on my skull blurs everything.
Black spots.
Crimson rain.
And screams. So many screams.