“Sure, if you—”
“No!” I insist, cutting Rose off. I am not letting this man take me back to my hotel. He could be a serial killer for all I know. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
I rush off, grabbing Rose by the hand and pulling her behind me before anyone can say anything. I don’t even slow down when my left ankle tilts and nearly causes me to fall again. I just keep moving. I don’t bother to share with Rose the fact that I’m anxious to leave because I was incredibly tempted to say yes to his invitation. We spent nearly an hour on the dance floor and it felt like all of five minutes. I didn’t know what was going on but I sure as hell didn’t want any part of it. Not from him. He might’ve been friendly but just under the surface he had danger written all over him.
No thank you.
Chapter Two
Emanuel
“You’re not going to chase after her?”
I cut my gaze to my cousin. “Since when the fuck do I chase after pussy?”
The mischievous grin that is constantly at play on Christian’s lips grows. “Just asking, you seemed to like that one. You were on the dance floor with her for a while. You looked ready to strip her down and fuck her right on the floor.
I was.But that’s none of Christian’s business.Besides…
“I know where she’s staying,” I say as I look ahead toward the exit where she’s fleeing. And that’s exactly what it was … fleeing. She was uncomfortable as all hell. It was damn near palpable.
“Whatever. There’s plenty of pussy in the sea, right?” Christian adds.
I frown in his direction once again. “You’re a sick fuck. You know that?”
Chuckling, he nods. “It’s taken you six years to learn that, huh?”
I shake my head and turn to look out over the dance floor. Christian and I have only known one another for six years. He’s my cousin, but circumstances of my own birth have kept me from knowing either side of my family until recently, hence the reason I’m in Mexico.
“The rest of the family arriving day after tomorrow as scheduled?”
Christian nods before taking a sip of his drink. “Everything’s on schedule,” he answers, but there’s something in his tone of voice. Absent is the underlying mirth I’d come to associate with him. But Christian, like the rest of the family, only shares something when they’re good and ready to. It seems to be a family trait I inherited.
“I’m ready to call it a night,” I state.
“Same.”
Again, that was another surprise from Christian. I don’t think I can ever recall him being ready to leave before a nightclub closes, and definitely not solo. But then again, I’ve rarely done it either.
“What’s up with that promotion? You start when you get back, right?” he questions as we walk toward our hotel, foregoing the taxi.
“It’s not a promotion. I was transferred.”
“But it’s a transfer you’ve wanted for over a year, right?”
I nod and grunt. “A couple of years.”
“To a better station?”
“Rescue Four. More action, more fires, more lives to save.”
“Sounds like a promotion to me.”
I don’t say anything.
“Congratulations on that award, too. What was it? The Webster Medal or something?”
I sigh. “Thomas Webster Medal,” is my only response. I don’t explain that it’s basically the bronze medal of the Williamsport Fire Department. The medal I earned for pulling five-year-old Jackson out of a fire, only for him to die a few hours later. I rub my hand across my chest, something that’s become a habit every time I think about that night.
