39. Denver
Chapter 39
Denver
“ E than, wake up.” I hold his face in my blood-soaked hands, my body trembling as blood gathers at my knees. More bullets are fired, and more people scream, but they feel too distant to hurt me. “Please, Ethan?—”
His dark eyes stare past me, and the light I once loved is gone. The two spots of red on his chest expand and become one.
I can’t breathe. I repeat his name, my tears joining the blood. My fingers are numb, and my nose is, too. Goosebumps shower my arms, and Ethan keeps staring past me, unblinking.
Gone.
He’s gone.
“Mr. and Mrs. Luxe!” a man announces from beyond the balcony doors. I lift my head. The shooting has stopped, and quieted sobs echo as people remain on their knees behind overturned tables. Through the blur of tears, I can see a man standing at the entrance to the ballroom, arms stretched wide. More men flank him with automatic weapons. “Come on, don’t be rude, greet your guest! Where’s Deluxe? I bet she looks beautiful.”
“Denver,” Ranger’s voice booms across the room, and I hold back the sob crawling up my throat. It sounds like he’s further back into the room and unhurt. “If you are still in this room, do not let this fucker see you.”
The man laughs. “Where are you hiding, Ranger? Oh, who cares! You’re alive! Good. It’d be boring killing your wife without you watching.”
“Fucking touch her, Harland, and I’ll remove your spine.”
Wilder.
I look down at Ethan and kiss his cheek, his skin still warm against my lips. “I’ll be back, okay? I’ll be back.” For a reason I can’t explain, I close his jacket over his now-red shirt.
I back to the edge of the balcony and crawl toward the door, keeping my eyes on the Harland brother. My dress clings to me, Ethan’s blood spreading across my skin and through the silk.
Ethan is dead.
I close my eyes, and a ringing starts in my ears. The sound is violent, and a headache quickly follows as pressure builds in my head. Heat stings my cheeks, and within the well of my heart, I dig for the strength not to cry. I can grieve Ethan, but not now.
First, I have to make this fucker pay.
“Denver DeLuca!” Wilder calls.
“Don’t move, Denver!” Ranger shouts.
Someone screams, and a woman sobs. Wilder says, “What’s your name?” A quiet, fearful response. “Louder, sweetheart.”
“Harley.”
No, not Harley.
“Hello, Harley. I’m Wilder. It’s lovely to meet you.” A gunshot rings out, and people scream. “Goodbye, Harley. It was lovely to meet you.”
The sound reverberates through mymind, and I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back an onslaught of despair for Harley’s son. Harley’s family. Harley, my friend. A good fucking person.
Tears sting my eyes, and I close my hands into fists, my fingernails biting into my palms.
Fuck Wilder Harland to hell and back.
I stand and stride into the room. Harley is face down on the floor, blood spreading around her head.
And I come face to face with Wilder Harland again.
He bows deeply. “It’s lovely to see you again, Deluxe.”
“Fuck you,” I spit.
Wilder straightens up and tuts, looking pointedly at his men who flank him. “Isn’t she rude? All I wanted was another chat with your husband after our fun together last time.” He bends to the side to glance past me, then around the room. “It seems he thinks his life is more important than yours.” He raises his voice. “I didn’t take you for a coward, Ranger!”
Silence greets him, and I know what Ranger is doing and why he’s quiet.
“What do you think you’re going to achieve?” I ask, counting the painful seconds in my head. “Do you think you’ll impress Ranger by doing this?”
Wilder barks out a laugh. “Impress him? Sweetheart…” I grimace at the term. “I want to kill him. I want to take everything he has. I want San Francisco to forget his fucking name .” The wild playfulness in his eyes vanishes, and darkness follows. He’s so angry, so irrationally angry, that when he approaches, it takes everything in me not to step back.
“Why?” I ask, relieved when he stops advancing.
He points the gun at his chest. “Because he disrespected me. He thinks he can make deals with my brother to put me on a leash?”
I would laugh if the grief weren’t crushing me. If Harley wasn’t dead at my feet, if Ethan wasn’t dead on that balcony. “What is wrong with you? How can you think any of this makes sense?”
“Because I’m Wilder fucking Harland!” he screams, eyes wide, his voice echoing through the ballroom, some people whimpering in response. “I am somebody.”
Maybe he was at some point. But he lost his power because he refused to lose his morals. Or maybe Ranger was right at the restaurant all those weeks ago. Maybe Wilder was stupid, and this life had poisoned his mind, and he believed the only way to regain respect was through blood.
Has a minute passed? Two? Or three?
I need more time. “Wilder?—”
“No more talking.” He lifts the gun. Mybreath is sharp, and I take a singular step back, but a bullet doesn’t shatter the quiet—a voice does.
“No!”
A voice I know. A voice belonging to a man I wish wouldn’t be such a fucking hero.
Don’t, Sebastian. I can’t lose you, too.
Wilder’s gaze darts to where Sebastian had called from. “Who was that? Who is our tribute?”
Stay down, Sebastian. Stay down.
“Hands in the fucking air.” Archer is on his feet before Sebastian, his gun aimed at Wilder. I never thought I’d be relieved to see him, but I am.
Wilder blinks at Adler once, then returns his attention to me. “You invited a cop to your wedding? That’s disgusting.”
“Hands. In the fucking. Air ,” Archer bites out.
The Harland brother sighs. “Nah.”
My hands fly to my face as Wilder shoots. Blood spatters behind Archer, a bloom of red across his chest.
Someone shouts, and Sebastian scrambles to his knees by his brother. He says something, sobs something, his back to me as he presses his hands over Archer’s chest to stop the bleeding.
“Sebastian, get down!” I scream.
He ignores me. Of course he would. His brother is dying. But even if it wasn’t his brother with a bullet in his chest, Sebastian would help because that’s the kind of man he is.
A helper, a healer, a good guy.
“Fuckhead,” Wilder calls out, gesturing with his gun at Sebastian’s back. “Let the cop die, or you die.”
“No,” I cry. “Please don’t.”
Wilder ignores me. “Blondey! Get the fuck down, or I will shoot you!”
Panic rings in my ears, a shrill, sharp, hissing sound that could be my heart or the bullets that keep robbing lives. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
My chest jerks with a pained sob. It jerks again.
Sebastian slumps to the ground, two bullets in his back.
More screams. Sobs. I stare at Wilder, and he sighs and shrugs. “Another one bites the dust. Now, Denver, where were we?”
He’s broken. Unhinged.
The ringing in my ears grows louder.
He killed Ethan.
He killed Harley.
He killed Sebastian.
Blood and bullets. Blood and fucking bullets. I’m so tired of it. Tired of losing people, tired of people dying, tired of this life that amounts to nothing but a fat bank account and pain.
Someone scrambles to their feet on the far side of the room and runs for the balcony. Wilder’s gaze darts to the movement.
I kick off my shoes and run at him. I sweep up a discarded champagne bottle off the floor and brandish it like a bat, both hands wrapped around the bottle’s neck. I pull it back over my shoulder, adrenaline and anger—pure, bitter, acidic anger—pumping through me.
I swing.
The bottle hitting Wilder’s palm sounds like a whip. He snatches it from my hands, tossing it to the ground, and then his hand is around my neck.
My feet leave the ground, and I grasp at his wrist, my lips parted as I desperately try to take in air. The tips of my toes tickle the floor as I struggle in his grasp, his dark blue eyes darting across my features like he’s memorizing my face before he kills me.
Wilder pulls me closer, his grip tightening on my throat. My choker presses into my skin, and I scratch at the back of his hands, pressure building in my head as I stare into sapphire eyes.
Should I have run? Should I be with Axel, half a world away, terrified but stepping into fresh waters? Would I be someone new, someone happy, someone excited for what was to come?
A life flashes before my eyes, but it isn’t a world away with Axel. It isn’t dog walks with Ethan or dancing with my dad in the living room. I walk past those possibilities, past happiness held by others.
And I go to him.
To the man who broke me down, only to rebuild me. To the man who vowed to protect me, to love me no matter what I did. The puzzle pieces of my life fall into place, and it’s him.
It’s all him.
And as death kisses me, as it wraps its arms around me, I realize that Ranger loves me for so many reasons, but one reason rises above the rest.
I’m a survivor.
I didn’t go through everything I have to die like this.
I’m Denver fucking Luxe.
And I don’t give up.
I drag my nails down Wilder’s face. Blood blooms in long, dark lines across his skin, and he swears and releases me. I fall and my hip connects with the floor. Wilder’s gun is in my face.
Bullets fly, but not at me. Wilder lurches forward, his eyes wide with surprise, someone’s hand gripping the back of his neck.
And a familiar voice rises from behind him.
One doused in darkness, violence, and promise, a rumble from hell itself.
“I warned you not to touch my fucking wife.”
Ranger chose this venue because we know it well. The ballroom has three doors—the entrance, the balcony, and access to the stock room that leads into an alley. His silence earlier hadn’t frightened me because I know he would rather die in this room than leave me. He had gotten out, called for backup, and now he’ll get revenge.
Ranger’s fist slams into Wilder’s face, and the Harland brother is thrown back, hitting the floor and skidding.
I try to breathe, and Ranger reaches out his hand to me. I take it, and he lifts me to my feet, cupping the back of my neck.
“Are you okay?”
I nod, my throat burning as I speak, “Are you?—”
The crack of bullets shatters the air. Ranger spins, his hand reaching behind him to pull my chest to his back, his other arm outstretched and firing. He steps backward, forcing meback, my face pressed into his jacket as people scream, glass smashes, and orders are shouted between Ranger’s men and Wilder’s.
I open my eyes, my gaze landing on Ethan’s body on the balcony.
“Is that it? Come on, pipsqueak. You want them back? Fight for them.”
“I’m Ethan, by the way.”
“You’re worth thinking about.”
“Just don’t forget about me, okay?”
I reach into Ranger’s holster and pull out his second gun. Flicking off the safety, I stand by his side, my arm outstretched.
Chaos reigns. There’s too much movement, too much noise. Time slows with my heart.
Thump thump . I shift my gaze to men I know and ones I don’t. The bang of bullets firing and the muffled sounds of silencers. Thump thump . I spot Cal, mouth open as he shouts a command, his back pressed to the right wall of the ballroom entrance. Thump thump . A man comes into view, a face I don’t know.
I fire. The kickback thunders through my arm, reverberating in my bones, a gold casing spitting from the weapon. My bullet hits, and the man steps back. I fire again, my second bullet joining the first, and blood spits across cream walls.
Ranger grips my waist, and he turns, pulling me into his chest, his arm outstretched over my shoulder as he fires behind me. His body is warmth and hardened muscle, and movement by the balcony doors shows more men arriving.
“Ranger,” I rasp, my throat still aching. “Police.”
“Everybody down, now!” an officer bellows. Weapons clatter to the ground, and shouts echo as some try to run and are taken out.
“Wait,” Ranger says to me, my body crushed against his. As I heave in panicked breaths, Ranger is calm, his arm still tight around my waist. “Wait.”
I don’t know what I’m waiting for, so I don’t move. I cling to him, and I wait.
“Now.” Ranger tosses his weapon, and I do the same. “Do as they say, but don’t talk, little bird.” He kisses my cheek. “On your knees, fingers interlocked behind your head. Don’t give them any reason to hurt you.”
I nod, and we both get to our knees.