55. Everett
55
EVERETT
O kay. It’s time to crash the Belleflower party.
I step forward into the fray. The music rumbles at the stage. Men dance, swaying together with women who stumble on their feet. I wind around tables stacked with champagne glasses.
Arris stands alone, watching his flock. He’s so pleased with himself he doesn’t notice I’m on him until it’s too late.
When his eyes connect with mine, his entire body goes tense.
“Arris Dagney,” I say. “You’re…” Hmm. This isn’t quite right . “…under arrest.”
Arris looks at me. He blinks. Then he laughs. “No. I don’t think so. You see…” He motions to the sheriff, who has his face deep in the breasts of a Belleflower Queen. “I have all the law I need right here.”
“I’ll rephrase. You can come with me now and do this the easy way…or I’ll kill you, your entire security team, and anyone who gets in my way. Your choice.”
Now, all the humor has left Arris’s expression. “I do hate it when the livestock talks back,” he says. Then he snaps his fingers.
Two members of his security team close in, blocking me from Arris. Their hands go to their guns.
“Fine. Option two.”
I fit the headphones into my ears and hit Play.
Blondie’s “Heart of Glass” fills my ears.
Things that are important to me about music: it should have a steady rhythm, a good beat, and should be clean enough to drown out the external sounds outside.
All the spikes and jolts of prickly, uncomfortable noise smooth out with Debbie Harry’s lovely, melodic voice.
My body knows exactly what to do.
They attempt to grab me. We dance. Elbow in the stomach, hit to the throat, knee to the face. One man down. The other draws his gun, so I grab his arm, aiming it away. He sinks two bullets into the ground. I kick his legs out from underneath him, take his gun from him, and turn it on him.
I squeeze the trigger.
And then the chaos really begins.
The panic. The shouts. The rush of bodies all streaming toward the door.
I turn up the music. My focus is sharp. Clear. Singular.
There are four guards. Two down. And one target.
Arris-Sergey-Dagney.
He stares at me, eyes wide. Finally, he understands. No matter what he throws at me, I’m not going to stop until I have his throat in my teeth. Finally, he’s afraid.
He tries to swim through the crowd to get to the door.
A guard grabs me from behind. I smash my elbow back, but I’m met with a horse head mask. Irritating. I just damage the thing’s snout. He jabs a stick at me, and suddenly, my entire body lights up. My muscles tense, my teeth clench, and pain vibrates through me.
What is that—a cattle prod?
Fucking cowboys.
I kick him in the stomach, and it knocks the ghastly thing out of his arm. Gives me enough time to kneel on his chest and nestle my gun underneath his chin.
Blood and brain matter exit the mask’s hollow eyes.
An arm locks around my throat, dragging me to my feet. It steals the breath from me, and my gun goes clattering out of my hands. My headphones pop out, the strings tangled in his forearm. Now I can hear it all. The stomping of panicked feet. The squealing of my boots against the polished floors. The ugly gasping of my own breath.
The sound of Sheriff Holden growling, “ Stay down ,” as he tries to choke the life out of me.
The cacophony of terrible noise, getting under my skin like a million fire ants.
I try to buck him, but he’s strong. I smash the back of my head into his face. That works enough to get him to loosen his grip. I twist to finish it, but…
Maeby comes at him with a bottle of wine. She breaks it over his head. Holden staggers, then falls to the floor.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
She squints at me. “Didn’t you used to be British?”
Victory is brief.
I hear a click behind me, and I know immediately I have a gun pointed at my skull.
I turn. Arris is holding the pistol that slipped from my fingers. And he’s aiming it directly between my eyes.
“See you in hell, Everett Holden,” he tells me.
Two things happen at the same time:
One, the gun goes off.
Two, the ground is pulled out from underneath me.
My arms snap to my sides, and my middle feels constricted, as though I’ve been hugged by a boa constrictor.
I blink. I’m on my back, staring at the ceiling.
But I’m alive . Somehow.
Suddenly, Ransom is hovering over me, rust-colored hair framing his face. “You okay?” he asks, his voice full of concern.
I glance down. His lasso is around my middle.
He yanked me out of the path of the bullet.
“Good cowboy,” I tell him.
I wiggle out of the rope, grab the back of his head, and yank his mouth down on mine.
He lets out a muffled sound. His lips are warm, and the scruff of his jaw rubs pleasantly against my thumb. A low groan rumbles from me.
I want to rub myself against this man like a cat.
When Ransom pulls back, he’s short of breath.
“Fight now,” he says, “kiss later.”
He takes my hand and helps me up to my feet. I scan the room.
But Arris is gone.
“He’s getting away,” I say. “If he’s in the wind again, we’ll never get him back.”
I step forward, but?—
My balance slips. Fuck . Stimulants are wearing off. The sedatives are seeping in again. The room is sliding out from under me, and I have to grip Ransom’s shoulder to keep from sliding.
“Hey.” Ransom claps my arm. I feel sturdy in his embrace. “You stay. Leave Arris to me.”
I lift my gaze to meet his soft, brown eyes. “Dragonfly. Your whole life, people have told you that you’re stupid and worthless and ugly.”
He blinks. “Ain’t nobody ever called me ugly, but okay.”
“Now is your time to prove them wrong.”
He sucks in a breath. I can feel him steeling himself off. “Take care of Claire,” he says. Before I can say anything else, he grabs the rope and rushes through the sea of people and out the front door.