CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Balor
“ H old the fuck on,” Trace says, and swings the Rivian across three lanes with the cool air of a military pilot pulling the nose of an aircraft up out of a dive.
He cuts off several cars but manages to avoid hitting them. Then he pulls to a hard stop when we reach the right lane shoulder.
Ella shakes in my arms. “No. No, no.”
Kissing her forehead, I say, “Stay in the car. Do not get out.”
“Quinlan, out. You and me.” I push the door open, thankful I’m not on the roadside with traffic screaming by.
Trace and I strut to the back of the SUV to see my left rear tire is flat.
“I heard a pop,” he says to me. “I think they shot the tire.”
I study the dark blue cruiser with State Trooper printed in yellow sitting a few car lengths behind us. I don’t see cameras.
Shaking my head, I say, “Okay. Get back inside the car. Lock the doors. Protect Ella. Whatever it takes, man.”
“Aye.” He spins around, obeying my command.
The light bar on top of the cruiser still flashes, but the trooper kills the sirens. The cop remains in the front seat, talking into his radio transmitter while looking straight ahead.
At me.
Ella’s ex is a cop.
They protect their own.
I don’t worry about facing a police officer in Astoria, but I’m not in Astoria right now. The trooper, in a solid black uniform and an enormous hat, gets out. He struts toward me with a baton dangling in his fingers .
“Something wrong, officer?” I ask.
He stops and tilts his head at my flat tire. “You got a blowout.”
“You had your lights on before the blowout. We weren’t speeding.”
“License and registration.”
“I wasn’t driving. My bodyguard was.”
His right cheek twitches. “Who the hell are you that you need a bodyguard?”
“Someone with enemies.” I cross my arms.
“I’d like to look at your vehicle.”
My heart pounds with rage. “Sure thing, but just an FYI, my bodyguard is carrying. He’s licensed.”
“Thanks for the warning.” He struts past me.
“I’m calling for service,” I shout out to him.
“Don’t got a spare?” he says over his shoulder. “Or are your nice hands too good to change a flat?”
“My nice hands earn me a nice living. So yes, sir.”
That answer turns him around and he just stares at me. It rattles me because I can’t download his brain to figure out what he’s thinking.
His head swivels toward my rear window briefly. “Did you know tinted windows are technically illegal?”
“Then I would suggest your detectives go after car dealers. It’s an option I paid good money for.” I block his view of the rear door. “My assistant is in the back seat.”
“Is she carrying, too?”
“No.”
“You got an assistant, a bodyguard, and a two-hundred-thousand-dollar SUV. Who the hell are you?”
“Someone important, officer.”
When he steps around me to speak to Trace, I take out my phone and call Shane.
“It’s me. I’m on the highway. Find my car and tell me where the hell I am. I have a flat. We had 5-0 on our ass. Trace heard a pop, then a tire blew out.”
“On it,” Shane says and then informs me of the town we’re in.
“Something is off here, Shane.”
“I’ll call a tow truck,” the officer says, handing Trace back his license and carry permit, but no ticket.
Thank fuck.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Just offering assistance. That’s what we’re here for. To help. Protect and serve,” he annunciates.
I don’t know if I’m wired because I have Ella and everything is firing inside me to protect her, or if this guy is fucking with me.
“Yes, officer,” I grind out and watch him walk back to his cruiser. “Did that sound off to you, Shane?” I murmur into my phone.
“What’s his plate number?” he asks and I read it to him. “Okay, his station house is a few miles away.”
“I don’t want some random service truck touching my fucking car.”
“Trace will fix the tire. He’s not delicate, trust me. He’s a warrior. He and Rhys make us look like spoiled brats.”
“Aye. See you soon.” I end the call, but a wicked chill cuts through me.
Tiny flakes fall on my home screen and blot into pinpricks of water. I look up and mutter, “Aw, fuck.”
The snowstorm.
TRACE CHANGES THE TIRE , but minutes later, the trooper is back, advising me the highway is closing and I need to get off at the next exit.
Now we’re stuck in the beginning of a monster blizzard.
I won’t risk the ride downstate, and I can’t ask my brother’s helicopter pilot to pick us up in a violent snow squall that’s expected to quickly blanket the whole county.
Looks like we’re staying in a local hotel.
We drive to the nearest one with a great rating and find the check-in line fills the lobby. The highway closure means every other stranded motorist is looking for a room, too.
Trace talks on his phone and keeps an eye out since this place hasn’t been scoped out for a stop. I don’t expect anyone here to know who I am, let alone want to hurt me. Unless I act like an asshole and bully my way to the front of the line and make parents with crying babies sleep in their cars by demanding three rooms.
We finally get to the check-in desk, and the clerk is sweating. “Can I help you?”
“I need two rooms. I have two employees with me.” I hand over my driver’s license with a one-hundred-dollar bill behind it.
The guy, who’s young and clean-cut, pulls his tie and says, “I only have rooms with a king bed. We’re keeping the two queen rooms for families. We’re all out of cribs and roll-away beds.”
I blink, taking that in. “The one-bed rooms are fine.”
The guy processes everything and hands me the keycards. “We’re ordering pizzas and warm food platters for everyone. They should be set up here in the lobby in a little while.”
Nodding, I say, “Thank you.”
I strut toward Trace who’s clearly guarding Ella for me.
She’s on her phone but hangs up when I get closer. “I spoke to my dad and told him we were staying the night.”
I freeze, hearing her mention her dad. “Did you tell him which hotel?”
She casually shakes her head. “He didn’t ask.”
“Did you tell him about the State Trooper pulling us over and the flat?”
“No. Just that the highway is shut down.”
Her father hasn’t called or messaged me. His daughter is an adult, and she works for me. He has no idea about Los Angeles, and hopefully hasn’t tracked my credit cards to find out which hotel I’m in. Or that I’m registered in two rooms, each with one bed.
Now, either I look like a bossy perv and shove Trace in a room by himself so I can be with Ella, my assistant, or I attempt to share a bed with a six-five ex-Irish Defences alpha.
“I’m sorry,” Ella says, sounding guilty and it guts me.
“You didn’t cause the snowstorm,” I tell her with a hand firmly on her waist. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be here if my father hadn’t forced you to hire me.” She gazes out at the snow quickly piling up.
I hate the pain in her eyes from thinking she’s caused this problem I have.
Is it a problem?
Either I make her sleep alone, with me, or with Trace. Fuck this, I need a third room.
Angry over this impossible choice, I turn back to the front desk, but a manager gets on a loudspeaker and says, “Folks, I’m sorry. There are no more rooms. We’re full up.”