Chapter 1 #2
She lingered for a moment, still sizing him up before she tilted her head. “If you say so.” She turned, headed around to the other side of the bar.
Patch reached over, slapped him on the chest. “Smooth, LaSalle. Real, smooth.”
“You caught me off-guard, dumbass.”
“Since when do you need practice asking a lady out to dinner? Pretty damn sure you dated before our lives went for shit.”
“Of course, I did but…” He huffed. “I’m not really in the position to ask her out, am I.”
It wasn’t a question, and Patch merely frowned.
“Why the fuck not?” He coughed as if he’d swallowed wrong. “Because we’re here? Isn’t that the point of Savvy giving us a second chance? We get to actually live?”
“Do we? Because despite the fact we’re still breathing, it feels a lot like we died back there, and our bodies just haven’t caught up yet.”
Patch stared at him, shoulders drooping a bit.
“McGuire. Brother, you didn’t kill Dane.
That fifteen seconds you’ve been agonizing over for the past six months wasn’t the difference if he lived or died.
We were set up. As soon as he established that connection, he would have realized the feed had been hacked.
They had to stop him. Like it or not, he was never making it back.
So, cut yourself some slack. Live a little.
” He leaned back, took a swig, nodding at Riven.
“Who knows, maybe if she’s in your bed, you won’t hate the view so much. ”
McGuire closed his eyes. As much as he wanted to deny it, Patch had a point. He’d been punishing himself ever since that night, and the never-ending guilt was killing him.
The fact he’d also been silently pining for Cinder didn’t help, either. Not quite the romantic notion Patch had painted, but McGuire would be lying if he didn’t admit a part of him had felt an instant connection. That he worried he’d never be free until he’d paid her back.
Which was odd because he’d felt that same, instant spark with Riven. As if he’d known her in another life.
He sighed, blew out a rough breath. The damn heat was obviously frying his brain. “Where would we even go? We’re supposed to stay in the fringes. Avoid any crowded places, remember?”
“You do know how to cook, right?”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“An ass who’s trying to be your wingman.” Patch twisted on the mismatched chair until Riven appeared over his shoulder. “Just ask her over to your place, talk. If she really is hiding out here, she’s not going to want to go anywhere crowded, either.”
“And if she says no?”
“Brother, if rejection was a deterrent, you’d still be a virgin.”
“Why are we friends, again?”
“Because no one else will have you.”
McGuire shoved his buddy, stood. He could do this.
He just needed to walk up to her, offer to make her dinner.
Nothing he hadn’t done a thousand times before, except where he’d barely talked to anyone other than his brothers and Remy’s guys since he’d arrived.
Had pretty much given up on anything other than the possibility of a one-night stand in the back of his Jeep.
That hadn’t happened, either. And part of him suspected it never would.
Riven must have felt him staring. She stopped wiping down one of the tables, looked back at him over her shoulder. Her lips quirked, a small smile curving her mouth before she pulled back. Shoved it down. As if she wasn’t quite sure she trusted him to notice her reaction.
The thought bounced around in his head, a few more warning bells sounding, when the screen door groaned open, four men crowding the entrance. The easy atmosphere changed instantly, a numbing chill slowly spreading through the place.
The hairs on the back of McGuire’s neck prickled.
The kind of sixth sense that had kept him alive in the sandbox.
All those missions, humping it through the jungle.
He shuffled closer to Patch, nodding toward the entrance, not that he’d needed to.
His buddy was already zeroed in — his right hand hovering near the piece McGuire knew Patch was packing.
Patch leaned closer. “Something tells me they’re not here for karaoke.”
“Ya think?”
McGuire studied them, noting the obvious tells. How their clothes were too new, too stiff, like they’d bought them an hour ago as an alternate to their tactical garb. What they’d hoped would blend in but stood out more than a tourist in a Hawaiian shirt.
None of which matched the well-worn combat boots peeking out from beneath the hems. The kind meant for kicking in doors, not traipsing through the bayou black water. And if they stood up any straighter, they’d snap.
The men scanned the room, fanned out. Searching each face, passing several empty tables as they closed in on the bar. The lead guy made a few hand signals, motioned the others to stop, hold their ground, as he shifted to get a better sightline on the counter.
Riven angled toward the bar, grabbed a couple beers as she moved past, then stepped over to their table.
She didn’t stare toward the men, but McGuire noticed the changes in her demeanor.
How her shoulders had lifted, tension drawing them back.
She’d shifted her weight forward, balanced on the balls of her feet as she slowed her breathing.
The way he did right before a fight.
She dropped the beers in front of them, voice tight. Clipped. “Here you go.”
He nodded his thanks, watching that lead guy out of the corner of his eye. The creep paused, played with one of the chairs as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to sit or keep looking.
Patch rocked to his feet beside McGuire, blocked any viable sightline at Riven as she returned to the bar — stopped behind the cash register. Made that asshole commit to either sitting or standing.
The guy glanced at his buddies, then back to Riven. Staring as if trying to place her. As if he’d seen a photo and couldn’t quite tell if she matched. He set his jaw, eyes widening a moment later as he sidestepped, drew his gun.
He didn’t falter as he aimed the barrel at her. No hesitation, no floundering, just a clean shot across the bar.
McGuire froze, his world narrowed into a single point. He’d been right.
It was definitely darker…