“Night,” Prince answered. “You’ve been out for almost three days.”
I nodded. “All right, I’m gonna have to punch you. Something to justify taking me out of the room.”
So we engaged in this piss poor attempt at a fight, but I did end up socking Prince pretty good in the jaw. He shot off another round, this one into the wall. I fell to the ground in supposed pain, and Prince picked me up by the collar of my shirt. The cold metal of the gun was at the base of my skull, and I had hoped Prince had the safety on.
He drug my ass out of the room, and I tried to resist as much as a crippled person could. The light was bright, and I wasn’t playing too much at being blind. Eventually, my left eye decided to work, and I saw one of King’s bodyguards was outside the door. But otherwise, it was an empty hallway.
“I’m running this motherfucker over with my bike,” Prince explained to the guard, breathing heavily. “He hasn’t leaked a word. If that doesn’t kill him, then I’m shooting him in the fucking face. Tell my father to be expecting me within the hour.”
The guard made no move, but there was a small nod of acknowledgment. Prince walked me to the exit door, and we went out into the Vegas nighttime. It was humid and hot like it always was. But the heat felt good—the concrete floor was cold, and my muscles were stiff. Prince let me go, and I took the time to stretch out and enjoy the feeling of being outside.
Prince walked over to his bike that was parked in the alley and revved it up. He made a close pass by me and then turned around. He revved the throttle, slowly walking it back up to me. He paused in front of me but didn’t cut the engine. It was almost deafeningly loud as it bounced off the walls between the buildings.
“Bike’s three blocks down, next to the parking ramp,” he said over the noise of the engine. “I can buy you enough time. But you can’t come back for a while.”
“I’m going to Phoenix,” I replied. “I’m wrangling up Ash and the Reapers.”
Prince nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on your girl. Let her know what’s up.”
He revved his bike again and nodded for me to start hoofing it. I took off, grateful for having only upper-body injuries. I heard Prince make a few more passes, and then a gunshot rang through the air. I kept moving, not stopping for anything or anyone. I rounded the corner, seeing my Harley right where Prince said it was.
“Hello, baby girl,” I purred as I walked up.
I did a quick check to make sure everything was good—no cut wires or bombs or tampered brake lines. But King had left my bike alone.Probably hoping to sell it, I thought.I fished the spare key out of the dash, hopped on, and turned the ignition. It roared to life, and I looked at my dislocated left shoulder. I put my right hand firmly on the joint and counted down from ten.
10, 9, 8, 7—Pop!I grunted in pain, but it was better than trying to maneuver a bike with a bum shoulder. My left hand was beyond repair, but it would at least get me where I was going. I checked my fuel gauge. I had just enough to get me to the next town. I looked in both directions one last time before pulling into traffic and making my way to the interstate.
After traveling to the outskirts, I turned off the road onto a small highway. I didn’t have my wallet or any cash.Thank fuck for backup plans, I thought. I rode up to my condo, hopping off my bike as fast as I could. I found the spare key under the mat, jamming it into the lock and bursting into the house.
I ran to the spare room, grabbing my backup forged ID, over two grand in cash, and a credit card. I also grabbed my spare pistol, and I checked the clip. It was fully loaded. I put it in the waistband of my jeans. I welcomed the weight and stood up. Taking a deep breath, I continued on.
I ransacked the bathroom and finally found the first aid kit. There was not much, but there was a roll of gauze tape and some stiff gauze pads. I wrapped my left hand, which would help to keep it secure until some medical professional could actually fix it. If that was even possible. I looked down at my handiwork.
I wonder if Brianna would be proud, I thought.
I looked in the mirror. My right eye was black and blue, but the swelling had gone down since I got up and moving. I could at least see for the most part. I took one of the break-and-shake ice pack things that were in the first aid kit. I applied it to my eye, the cold already working wonders. I sagged a moment into the relief, but I knew I had to keep going.
I made my way back to my bike, locking the condo behind me. I had to just hope that King was lying. That she wasn’t some mistress to him—and I hoped she wouldn’t have to do more than she had to anymore for King. I felt around the saddlebag, and I found the burner phone that I used, the number that I gave Brianna.
There were no messages or missed calls.
Sighing, I threw the phone back in the bag, just glad to have it. I found a spare wallet in there, and I stuffed the cash and the ID and the credit card inside. I put it in my pocket and put the gun in its place. I sealed the bag and looked around. I hadn’t been followed—at least not this far. But that might not last long. Even if King did believe Prince killed me, he’d still send a cleanup crew.
I swung over my bike and started the engine. I peeled away from the condo, riding hard, and hit the road, merging back onto the highway and then to the interstate heading south. I looked at the clock on my dash—I had only lost fifteen minutes with that detour. I had to focus on the task at hand now. But there was only one place I could go, and I hoped that they would at least hear me out.
The Black Reapers.
Brianna
After a grueling sixteen-hour shift at the hospital, I walked out to the warm air of Vegas nighttime. I looked up at the sky, the city light pollution covering every star. It had been almost three days since Crush was beaten and taken. I hadn’t heard anything—I was too scared to call or text him, just in case he got away or King had the phone. I pulled the keys out of my purse, making my way to my little car.
“Dr. Brianna Gold,” a deep voice sounded behind me. I turned on my heel in a panic. There was one of King’s personal lackey bodyguards. He was tall, dressed in all black, with his sunglasses on. “Follow me.”
“Can I at least take my own car?” I asked.
The man shook his head. I gulped, putting the keys back in my purse. I followed the man to an all-black limo with tinted windows. He opened the door to the backseat, and I half expected to see King waiting. But it was empty. I climbed into the limo—the purple ambient lights washing over me.
The man shut the door behind me, and soon we were on our way. There was a bag on the seat. I picked it up and saw that there was a note attached:Wear this for me, princess. It was in King’s writing. I fished through the bag and pulled out a shimmering gold gown.
