Текст книги "Storm"

Автор книги: Jo Raven

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Chapter Fifteen

STORM

“This is complicated,” she says, her voice quiet, “because… because I lied to you, Storm.”

“See?” Rook says triumphantly.

“Shut the fuck up, Rook. And get out.” I don’t even glance his way. “I’m talking to my girl.”

Quiet spreads. Seconds tick by. A grunt, then footsteps moving away, and he’s gone.

Fucking Rook.

I have an itch between my shoulder blades. We need to get out of here, but first I need to hear what she has to say—before she changes her mind. Breaking through her shell is damn hard.

She looks up, those same wide eyes I remember from the first time I saw her, at the beach, boring into mine. “This was all a dream. I knew it the minute you told me who you are. This sort of thing doesn’t happen to people, you know? This fairytale stuff. I don’t believe in that shit. I knew sooner or later the bubble would burst, and I’d drop all the way to the ground.” She breaths a soft laugh. “And it’s pretty high up here.”

“I won’t let you fall, Ray.”

My girl. I said it, didn’t I? And I don’t want to take it back. Wouldn’t if I could, because she’s about to trust me all the way. I know it. I see it on her pretty face, in her wide gaze.

From the start I knew she wasn’t telling me everything. I can read her like an open book. Which is why I trust her more than my own life, and what’s more… I like her. More than like her.

“I lied to you,” she whispers.

I nod. Yeah, you did, baby. But that’s okay, as long as you tell me the truth now. “What about?”

She sits down on the bed where not even an hour ago I held her and pleasured her, where I buried myself in her before life kicked me in the nuts again. “About myself.”

The girl can’t hide from me, not for a second. She may think she’s kept secrets, but I know her. I can see right to her soul, and it’s bright like a star.

“Talk.”

She winces, and I want to start again, to take her hand and ask more gently, but I’m not sure I can. I need her to tell me and not run and hide anymore.

Not from me.

“Look, Storm. You don’t know me, okay?”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ray. I do know you.”

“Stop. You don’t…” Her voice cracks. She shakes her head. “When I said I wasn’t part of the cons my dad and brother organized? That wasn’t true.” Her small hands clench on the covers. “I was involved. I was the decoy, and the lookout. After Mom died... ” Her voice cracks. “After that, Dad brought me into the loop. And for a while, I thought it was cool. I felt like I was part of the family. Until Dad screwed up.”

“Screwed up?”

Raylin’s soft mouth tightens, and there’s nothing I want to do more than rub my thumb over it and erase the pain.

“It was okay for a while, you know?” she says. “Petty cons, small things. But Dad was spiraling. He started drinking, gambling. Didn’t tell us about it until one day, a bunch of people came around to the bar where we were sitting, demanding money. He’d borrowed from the triad to cover his debts, and they’d come to collect.” She frowns. “He told them off, said he’d have the money for them soon.”

I ball my hands into fists to stop myself from going to her and pulling her on my lap. I need her to finish this. I kinda knew she was more involved than she was letting on, but the fear on her face is new.

“What happened, Ray?”

“My brother… He fired at them. They pulled their guns. Dad got between them. I…” She gulps and damn if those sparkling eyes aren’t filling with tears again. “I took a shot. Hit one of them. And then I ran.”

Holy motherfucking shit. “You killed one of them?”

She pales. “Clay, my brother, said their guy was dead. Said I should give myself up or the triad would kill them, too. But instead I ran. Never looked back. That was two years ago.”

Holy fuck, this can’t be happening. My stomach twists into a hard lump.

She wipes a hand over her eyes, and her cheeks glisten. “That’s why they’re after me. They want their money, and they want to punish me. And even if it all works out, if you manage to pay them off… They won’t let me go.”

Hot damn. I grunt and shake my head.

“This is the whole truth,” she murmurs. “That’s everything. Nothing left. I swear it.”

My heart stops for a moment, then starts again with a boom. I look down into her dark eyes and I don’t know what to say or do.

Fuck, I need to sit down. Suddenly everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours crashes down on me. My knees feel like water. I sink down beside her and rub my hands over my face.

So this is the truth.

Holy fuck, she killed a member of a triad. How am I gonna help her? How am I gonna save her?

“I’m leaving.” She makes as if to stand, but I grab her arm and don’t let her.

“No.”

“You can’t help me, Storm. I won’t—”

“I’ll fix this.” Somehow. Not sure how yet. But somehow.

“You can’t.”

“I won’t let anyone take you, goddammit.” I swallow desperately, my mouth dry like the desert. “I said I’ll fix this.”

“Or you can let me go,” she says.

“I can’t.” It’s clear to me now, and I know how stupid that is, but what the fuck, I don’t care. “I can’t let you go. I’ve tried. Please stay with me, Ray. I’ll kick Rook’s ass out of here. I’ll even get you a fucking cat. I’ll buy you ripped jeans and blouses with sequins. Whatever you want. Just stay.”

She says nothing, but her face crumbles. I open my arms for her, and she burrows in close. We cling to each other, her slight body shaking against mine. Her tears soak my shirt, and her small sobs are caught in my chest, in my throat until I can’t breathe.

I love her.

I don’t know when it happened, and I don’t fucking care. Even when I’m not sure how to save her, when I know I should keep her away for her own sake, when I know she will leave, sooner or later, I can’t shake off the truth of that feeling.

She belongs with me. And I’m not sure I can survive without her anymore.

***

Not sure which is safer—leaving Raylin at home while I go to the law office to sign the paperwork for my inheritance and then to the company to meet the Board of Directors, or taking her along.

A no-brainer in the end, because I can’t leave her out of my sight and not go insane with worry: she’s coming with me. The apartment is full of insurance people, and I don’t trust anyone right now.

Except Rook, a bastard though he is, whom I’d trust with my life.

“You don’t take your eyes off her, you hear?”

“I thought you didn’t want my eyes on her.” He grins and winks, and seriously, the guy is going looking for it.

“You want my fist in your face? Is that it? Ran out of whips to lash yourself with?”

That does the job. He shuts up. Looks like I’ve hit a nerve, because he falls silent after that and follows me sullenly to the elevator.

Fucking strange.

Rook, Hawk and I have traded insults and punches since we were toddlers. It’s part and parcel of our weird friendship. I wonder what put that carefully constructed, totally fake blank look on Rook’s face.

Filing that for future reference and investigation, I slip my arm around Raylin who’s been waiting for me, dressed in flared jeans and a white tunic, long hair loose on her shoulders, and step into the elevator.

Sweat is cooling on my back. My stomach is a hard knot under my ribs. This is it. I’m about to claim the Jordan empire, with all its perks, scandals and savage deals.

Fuck.

In a daze, I walk out of the elevator, through the lobby, my bodyguards closing in behind us. I’m vaguely aware of Raylin’s slim form pressed to my side, Rook’s solid form at my left, the car waiting outside.

A limo. Of course it is. Because when I told Rook we needed a non-descript car to ride in, he gave me The Look. The one that says I should shut up before they bring in the shrinks.

So it takes me a few precious seconds to realize he’s steering me past the limo to a forest-green Toyota.

“There you go,” he says, his expression still closed off, unreadable. “Your ride. Your driver is my best guy. Cross-checked hundred times over. That ought to put your damn mind to rest.”

The unexpectedness of it leaves me winded. “You’re golden, Rook.”

“Remember that.” He jabs a finger at me, avoids looking at Raylin. “See you at the office.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?”

“Nope.” He nods at the limo. “I’m taking your place.” He looks down at his dark suit. “Pretending to be you. Think I’ll pass the test?”

“Rook, no. Dammit.” He’s already walking away. “It’s dangerous,” I whisper.

“Meet you at the company HQ,” he throws over his shoulder.

Of course he doesn’t believe me. He’s just playing along, like the good friend he is, just short of patting me on the head and giving me a candy to keep me quiet.

“You think he might get attacked?” Raylin’s eyes are wide, flicking between me and Rook.

“I hope to hell not.” I struggle to unclench my jaw. I scowl at him as he climbs into the limo. “But I can’t fucking force him to be careful. Shit. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Go with the flow or sink. Because the only other option is going underground once more. Taking this car and driving into the Mexican desert for a couple decades.

Yeah, right.

Too bad I decided to stay and fight. I remind myself of my decision back at the beach house. At least one of us—at least Raylin should be able to walk away from this alive and free. I’ll do all it takes to see it done.

***

The drive to the law office goes fast with Raylin’s hand in mine. Smooth and without complication. My bodyguards in their silver Volvo follow us discreetly all the way.

See? I tell myself as we pull up outside the building. Rook was right. Nothing happened. Jesus.

Raylin pulls her hand from mine and presses her nose to the window to stare at the tall, old buildings lining the street of the business district. My eyes are glued to her shiny hair, the slender curve of her shoulders under the thin tunic, the pale arch of her neck.

Doubt is eating at me. I really thought someone who’d be trying to kill me would give it a try on my way to this meeting.

Not that any of this makes any damn sense.

Our driver steps out and opens Raylin’s door, then mine. We climb outside, into the cool Baltimore afternoon and enter the offices. Blood rushes in my ears, the thump thump thump of my pulse deafening.

This is it. This is fucking it. As we’re ushered past the front desk and into another set of elevators, a roaring darkness fills my mind. A moment I both longed for and dreaded since I was too young to understand what it entailed, what it meant.

I’m about to take control. Have access to all files. Piece everything together, if I can. About the company, about the deals. About the night my parents died.

The night I survived against all odds.

My bodyguards follow us as we are shown into a cluttered office and seated in old leather armchairs. They stand guard at the door as we are offered coffee, juice, water and a constipated-looking woman pushes a bunch of papers in front of me and a pen under my nose.

“Mr. Jordan,” she says, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s talking to me. The Mr. Jordans of my life were my dad first, my uncle afterward. “A pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Ms. April.”

“A pleasure,” I mutter, though I don’t feel it.

“It’s a simple process,” she goes on in the same monotonous voice. “We went through the bulk of the paperwork while you were away. I assure you everything is in order.”

While you were away. The rushing in my ears gets louder. While I vanished and nobody knew where I was.

Raylin reaches over and touches my knee, bringing me back to the now.

“I have collaborated with Jordan Enterprises for decades,” the woman goes on, obviously interpreting my silence as hesitation. “My colleague, Mr. Shin, and myself,” she nods at an elderly man in a brown suit who has just appeared through a door at the back of the room, “head this office, and it is in our interest to have you as our client, as I’m sure you understand.”

“Mr. Jordan,” the old man says and his almond-shaped eyes drill into me until I look away. “Welcome back.”

Wouldn’t it be nice if I had someone I could trust with me right now, someone knowledgeable about such things as fucking wills and goddamn legal documents?

But there isn’t.

Just sign the fucking papers, goddammit.

Grabbing the pen, I sign everywhere where a little red cross indicates a need of my name. Page after page I scrawl my name—Troy Jordan, the ghost of the boy who should’ve died fifteen years ago in a horrific accident—until I reach the end of the third package, and I stop.

I glance up. “What now?”

“Now,” Ms. April says, coming around her desk and picking up the papers, “you are the owner of Jordan Enterprises and of all their assets. You have the majority of shares, and you’re head of the board. The directors are, in fact, waiting for you right now.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “I know.”

“There is also,” she says, going back around the desk and pulling a drawer open, “a copy of your uncle’s will. He wanted you to receive it the moment you come into your inheritance.”

Right. Like I haven’t read it. He left me the house in Boca Raton. I know.

She puts it on the desk, right in front of me and I sigh. Whatever. I grab the envelope and shove it into the pocket of my jacket.

“Anything else?” I clear my throat, my hands shaking on my knees. “I mean, is this all?”

“That’s all.” She smiles a bright, brittle smile at me, and I don’t know. I should be glad, but man, this is fucked up.

How can this be all?

Raylin gets up, and I follow her example. Moving in a daze, I walk back to the elevator, back out of the building, back into the green car.

Everything’s okay. No bombs going off, no bullets smashing through the windows. Another quiet, smooth ride. I’m frowning at my reflection in the darkened glass, wondering why I feel slightly let down.

Then I glance at Raylin, and the world rocks back into balance. Everything will be fine. For the first time since I can remember, I may actually start to believe it.

That’s when my cell phone rings, and it all goes to hell once more.

Of course it does. What did I expect? Only get this: now I’ve managed to drag into it my friends, too.

Fucking A.

RAYLIN

We come to a halt in front of a shiny skyscraper, its top lost in the clouds. Jordan Enterprises, proclaims the huge silver sign spanning a good chunk of the façade.

Storm is on the phone, and I try not to eavesdrop, but something in his clipped answers makes me turn back toward him.

His face is pale. Sweat is beading on his brow and his eyes are wide and unseeing. His fingers are clenched so hard around the cell the plastic case is creaking.

“Storm.” I tug at the cell but can’t free it from his grip. “What happened?”

“Rook,” he breathes. “The limo lost control. The fucking brakes didn’t work.”

Oh my God. “And? Tell me.” My hand curls around his. “They can’t have been going fast. They were only crossing the town. Storm—”

“They hit a light post. The driver died on impact. They’ve taken Rook to the hospital.” He finally stirs, his gaze focusing. He turns to the driver, a burly, bearded guy in a suit. “Need to get there right the fuck now. Johns Hopkins Hospital. Drive.”

The guy doesn’t even blink. He turns back into the traffic and does as he’s told.

I stare at Storm—no, at Troy Jordan. He may say Troy is a ghost, but he’s right there, below the bad boy layer, a core of steel, a man who was born and raised to lead and do things his way.

Okay, maybe he isn’t so different from Storm after all. Just more used to getting what he sets out to get.

His big hand opens, engulfing mine, and he holds on to me as we drive through the busy streets. His face is still too pale, and I lean into him.

He lets go only to wrap his arm around me. He likes holding me, and when he looks down at me and I cup his jaw, he makes a strangled sound and scoops me up in his lap.

“I did this to him,” he rasps in my hair, both arms around me, crushing me to him. “I should have insisted. It was me they wanted.”

Oh God, he’s right. Has to be. Too many coincidences. “Not your fault,” I whisper. “He’s a grown man. He made his own decision.”

“He thought it was a joke. That I was spewing crazy.” His breath catches. “I fucking wish I was. But Rook has always had my back. He’s the oldest.”

“Oldest?”

“Hawk is in the middle, twenty-one like me but a few months older. Rook is twenty-three. He was always our big brother, our protector. He was…” A tremor goes through him. “The tattoos were his idea. The roses. Sub rosa, said the Romans. What you say under the roses remains a secret. We told our secrets to each other and got the ink, and now he’s—”

“Shh.” I press myself to him. His skin is cold, and I wind my arms around him, trying to warm him up. “Everything will be okay.” Says the one who’s wanted by the Chinese mafia. Jesus. “Let’s see how he is first. He’s not dead. We have to hope for the best.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” His breath is warm on top of my head. “We have secrets. I have secrets. You told me everything, but I haven’t. Not yet.”

“Told you trust takes time,” I whisper.

“I do trust you, dammit.” He sighs. “I only hoped you’d never have to get involved in this shit.”

“It’s okay.” It’s time to stop running and hiding. So I look up at him and smile. “I’ll take a risk on you.”

Chapter Sixteen

STORM

By the time we reach the hospital, I’ve gotten myself mostly under control. My hands aren’t trembling anymore, but my chest still feels crushed.

I called Rook an asshole. Told him off. Threw him out. When all he was trying to do was look out for me, like every time.

Releasing Raylin, I fumble with the car door and throw it open before the driver reaches my side to open it for me. Cool air rushes in, and I draw deep breaths to clear the fuzziness in my head.

I step out, and Raylin is already hurrying around the car to reach me. Taking her hand, I walk with her to the emergencies entrance.

Blood. Gore. Death. Blurry memories of twisted bodies, bones sticking out of mangled flesh, their eyes open, faces twisted in a grimace of violence and death.

My parents’ faces.

“Storm.” Raylin tugs on my hand, worry etched on her fine features. “Come on.”

Didn’t realize I’d stopped walking.

What I want is to run. Take off running, run until my lungs burn and my muscles tremble. Until I can empty my mind.

Instead I nod and follow her. Need to snap out of it. Guess the explosion back at the apartment shook me worse than I thought—and now this.

If Rook doesn’t make it…

The doors slide open in front of us, then close behind us. Nope, haven’t made it out of the strange daze. I’m walking through blood, and every face staring back at me is the face of a corpse, gray and open-mouthed, crimson dripping down their necks, soaking their clothes, and then—

“Mr. Jordan. This way, please.”

I blink at the tiny triage nurse. “We’re here for—”

“Mr. Roderick Carter. We have been expecting you. You are on the list of next-of-kin.”

“Roderick Carter?” Raylin whispers. “That’s Rook?”

“Yeah.” So much I need to tell her. So much I never thought I had to recall.

Because I didn’t think she was staying. Didn’t think I could keep her. Still not sure she’ll want to stay, even if we manage to get the triad off our backs, because maybe I’m not crazy after all, and the danger is real and much worse than I thought.

I never got to keep much, except money from deals with the devil and jumbled, bloodied memories. Never got to keep people I love, except for my two friends, and now one of them is lying in hospital because of me, and I don’t even know if he’ll pull through. The thought turns my insides to ice.

Fuck. We fall behind the nurse, winding through too-bright hallways, past open doors and exhausted people. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Yeah, that about sums my thoughts—for this day, this year and my whole damn life.

***

“He’ll be okay,” Raylin tells me for what has to be the twentieth time. “You heard the doctors.”

I’m leaning against the door frame to Rook’s private room, arms folded over my chest. The bandaged wound on my back burns, and my leg throbs, and it’s a background music, a symphony of misery.

Rook will be okay. I repeat the words in my head, forcing them to sink through the morass. He broke his collarbone and arm, and more importantly he banged his head pretty good, but he’s showing signs of waking up. The doctors are confident he’ll be awake in time for the evening news.

Troy Jordan’s limo went off the road today. Hit a lamppost. Driver dead. No news about the infamous Troy Jordan himself.

Until he walked out of the hospital, and everyone knew he was fine.

If they haven’t swung by to ask and know the answer already. If they aren’t waiting outside to finish him off. Because, hey, how much patience can this fucking killer have, making murder attempt after murder attempt look like an accident? How long until that patience runs out and I get a real big motherfucking bomb planted in my car or apartment, or a sniper takes me out?

I bet an examination of the limo will show brake failure and nothing suspicious.

Why aren’t I dead yet? Is their plan to get me into a madhouse, first?

Shit. I rake a hand through my short hair, tugging, the sharp pinpoints of pain a welcome distraction. Raylin comes closer, and I lunge for her hand, pull her to me. Warm, soft, bright. Right now she’s the only constant, the only anchor in a world spinning out of control.

“We’re going to a hotel,” I hear myself say. “Until we decide what to do.”

“And you’ll tell me the rest?” she asks softly. “About the roses and the secrets.”

My throat is closing. Rook is bruised and battered lying there on the bed, one arm in a cast and sling, unaware.

“I will.” No point in putting it off any longer. “But first we need to see about the triad.”

“And how are we gonna do that?” If anything, her voice has gone even softer, and fear shines through her eyes.

“Hawk.”

“What can Hawk do?”

“The real question is,” a deep voice says from behind us, “is there anything Hawk can’t do? And to save you the trouble of thinking about this, the answer is no, not really. Right, Storm?”

Bastard. He’s right fucking there, winking at us, blond hair sticking up like a hedgehog, and a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

And I’m so damn glad he’s back, because he’s right. If anyone can pull this off—if anyone can deal with the triad and convince them to get off our backs, make a deal and let Raylin go—then he’s the one.

***

“Tonight we rest,” Hawk is saying as we head out of the hospital, round a personnel side entrance, hoping to avoid any paparazzi who may have gotten whiff of this new story. “I send out feelers to see who I could talk to, and tomorrow you go and arrange for the money we will need.”

Right. It’s a bit more than I can get from an ATM. Damn, I have to go to a bank. Talk about making myself into an easy target. And that thought leads to this one:

“Do you believe me now, asshole?” I jab a finger at Hawk, and he dodges the jab easily, dancing out of the way. “About the attacks?”

Rook would believe me if he was awake and able to think.

Dammit, Rook. He did wake up before we left, but he was instantly pumped full of sedatives and painkillers until he was out like a light once more, and we were shooed out.

“I’m… reserving judgment.” Hawk glances at my bodyguards who are following us through the hospital at a discreet distance, brows heavy over his eyes. “Let’s say you’re right, and this brake failure wasn’t natural, then—”

“Natural. You think my cars aren’t checked regularly?”

“You were away, Storm. Fucking hell, lots could have happened without your supervision, know what I mean?” He lifts his hands and turns back to stride toward the automatic doors. “I’m just saying. You may be right, and we’d better be careful.”

Well, that’s something, I guess.

“You’re staying at my place,” he goes on.

No fucking way am I doing this again.

“The hell we are. We’re staying at a damn hotel, where we don’t put you in danger, too.” I push past him, Raylin barely keeping up, heading to our green car. “See how it turned out for Rook.”

“But sending me to the Chinese mafia isn’t dangerous? What’s the matter with you?” Hawk grabs me before I reach the car and spins me—and Raylin who’s holding my hand—around. “You think I’m scared, asshole?”

“Maybe you should be, for a change.” I shake myself free, my pulse thumping inside my skull. “Because it’s all falling apart. Because Rook’s in the hospital, and someone’s after me and what if it has to do with what I told you all those years ago—”

“Shut it.” Hawk’s light eyes dart from me to Raylin and back. “She doesn’t know.”

“I’m gonna tell her my secret, man. Not yours. So it’s none of your business.”

“You said you didn’t know who might be after you,” she hisses. “And now you do?”

Damn. “No, I still don’t. Ray…”

“And how would your secret have to do with any of this?” Hawk waves his hands in the air like racing flags. “You’re not even sure about what you remember—”

“Hell, Hawk,” I grind out from between clenched teeth. “I don’t fucking know. But what else is there? A random hotel, that’s where we’re checking in, and pray to God nobody will follow us.”

He shakes his head, disgusted.

He’s definitely unhappy with me. Hey, he should take a number. The line of people unhappy with me is growing long—though ‘unhappy’ might be too mild a term.

“Fine,” he spits out the word and pulls two things from the pockets of his jacket—a handgun and a prepaid card phone, which he hands to me. “Have it your way. Meanwhile, I’ll see what I can do about the triad. She only owes the money, right? That’s all.”

Oh fuck. He doesn’t know the new development. Raylin shivers at my side, and I tug her closer, as if that way I can protect her.

“As a matter of fact, something else came up. Listen…”

***

Ten minutes later Hawk is cursing under his breath, his face red, and not in a flattering way. I mean, I like it when Raylin blushes—holy shit, just the thought of it gets me hard and aching—but on Hawk it only tells me one thing: he’s two seconds from either self-combusting or punching me in the face.

Or maybe both.

Probably both.

“She did what?” he finally manages, and dammit, we’re still on the sidewalk, in plain view of everyone.

Raylin moans low in her throat, and I pull her all the way into my arms. “You heard me. Can you do something about it?”

“The fuck, Storm. This isn’t a card game. If she killed one of theirs…”

“Be quiet, goddammit.” My heart is slamming against my ribs. This has to work. “Can you, or can’t you? I thought nothing was beyond you.”

“Yeah, well, that was before you dropped this bomb on me.”

Our driver is standing next to the car in the alley, pretending not to look at us. The bodyguards are standing between us and their car. My skin crawls. There’s an itch on the back of my head, as if I can feel the red dot of a rifle aimed at me.

There’s nobody else here, dammit. We’re in a narrow alley with a smell of cat piss where hospital staff come out to smoke and make phone calls. We’ll be safe for another two minutes.

“Can you do it or not?” I’m not staying out in the open a second longer. “Tell me now, and I’ll see what to do.”

“You can’t do this without me.” He’s waving his hands again. Hawk rarely gets nervous, and this is one of those rare times. “You know it.”

“Are you in, Hawk?” Because he’s right. He’s the only person I know—and trust—with connections with the triads.

“Fuck you.” He glares at me, makes me wait. Then he sighs. “Yeah, goddammit, I’m in. Need to save your fucking ass—again. Like I have a choice.”

“We all have choices,” I remind him as I open the car door and gently push Raylin inside.

Playing my last card and hoping Hawk won’t let me down.

“And I choose to make sure you and your little girlfriend keep breathing. But you know what, man. That’s not a fucking choice at all. Like I’d choose anything else.”

With that he, well, storms away, leaving me light-headed with hope and fear, and Christ, I really hope I haven’t just signed the death sentence of yet another brother, my other best friend. I have so few real friends I really should be more fucking careful.

But despite what I told Hawk, it’s not like I have a choice, either. How can I leave Raylin in the hands of the triad?

I can’t, and that’s a fact.

RAYLIN

Everything’s a whirlwind right now, moving too fast for me to keep up. To think that I considered traveling all over the country as I ran from my pursuers, reaching as far south as Florida, to be a wild ride. Breaking into a mansion, seeing the ocean, watching a handsome man jog down the beach…

And now here I am, in Baltimore, with a bad-boy millionaire and his demented friends, trying to figure out a way to get the triad off my back and wondering what his secrets might be. The secrets that may or may not be the reason behind the attempts on his life.

Attempts everyone else sees as accidents. Attempts not even his best friends regard as such. But I believe him. I’m done doubting. And this secret he says he’s about to tell me… If my jangled nerves are any indication, it’s going to be a big one, an important one.

One that might change the whole picture. Not because I’m smarter than he is, or better at solving riddles. No, I’m just more suspicious, made wary by life. Plus, whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. We’ll weather this together.

I’m staying with him, and I’ll do my best to protect him, until he sends me away. And even then… even then, I know it, my heart will stay with him.