Chapter Sixty-Six
Chance holstered his weapon and prayed. He hadn’t done that much in his life. Maybe he needed to do it more often. But as he knelt next to a tub filled with blood-red water and Jane lying lifelessly on the bathroom floor, his prayers were vicious, savage requests for retribution.
“Her wrists.” Water dripped off of Winters as he spoke between chest compressions. “Hold the towels.” Another chest compression, then he positioned her airway and gave two breaths.
Winters had wrapped towels tightly around Jane’s wrists, but they still needed pressure. Chance held them as best he could.
Pennebaker rounded the corner. Sweat dampened his Hawaiian shirt. He stumbled back as he caught sight of them on the floor, but got to work, taking one of Jane’s wrists from Chance. “Sal’s still out. Dax got me with something—” Pennebaker gagged “—over my mouth. Just for a minute. Long enough.”
Jane choked. Water gurgled from between her lips. Winters turned her head. Her stomach convulsed. Her breath returned, faint and choppy.
Chance’s throat ached. “There you go, Mary Poppins.” He watched her eyelashes. They fluttered, not opening. “You’re going to be fine.” Sirens wailed in the distance. “Everything will be fine.”
“I’ll get the door.” Pennebaker nodded for Chance to take Jane’s wrist again—but he stumbled to find his balance.
“You stay here.” Chance switched with Pennebaker. The front door seemed miles away. He promised Jane that everything would be okay, then hustled from the bathroom. Of course Dax, Gigi, and Lark would be gone. Chance would ruin the rest of his life if it meant he could ruin theirs.
Until then, he needed help to arrive. Chance bounded down the front stairs and across the foyer.
Something moved in his peripheral vision, and he spun toward the living room.
Their sniper had pulled a wingback chair in front of a couch.
The man they called Cash cradled his rifle and wore a look that said try me.
Inches away, Dax, Gigi, and Lark sat on the couch, thigh to thigh, bound by plastic zip-ties.
The sniper smiled darkly. “They’ve requested a lawyer.”
Chance’s eyebrows arched.
“To which I explained in no uncertain terms, I don’t give a shit.”
If he weren’t waiting for Jane’s ambulance, Chance might have laughed.
“I don’t know who you are,” the sniper added. “I’ll never see you again. But I know Boss Man would give his stamp of approval to whatever you want to do with these three before we hand them over to the cops.”
What did Chance want to do? He stared at them.
Though Dax was coming off of an adrenaline high, he seemed unfazed, Gigi was put out and indignant, and Lark was clearly calculating how best to spin the situation to the press.
They weren’t worried that Chance would tear them limb from limb—nor were they worried about Jane.
“What do you want to do?” Cash prompted.
All Chance wanted was to be by Jane’s side. “Let them rot in a prison cell. I don’t care.”
Gigi scoffed.
Disdain curled on his lips. “You’ll be surprised to learn that karma is a bigger bitch than you.” Chance turned to meet the emergency technicians, adding with a bitter laugh, “Finally, something that will hold my interest about the Thanes.”