The applause is deafening and the band steps it up a notch. I’m real proud of Sienna but fearful. She looks too happy, especially when she exchanges onstage looks with Jasper.
What if she thinks me and her are some kind of fling? Will I survive if she starts up with that Australian? My thoughts get all kind of morbid as the set finishes.
Under the hot lights, Sienna leans into the mic, beads of sweat on her forehead. “Y’all are too kind. Grab a drink, make sure to tip your waitresses, and we’ll be back in a few.”
Then, Jasper introduces the band once more and again, holds her hand to take a bow.
I slip off my stool and glance once more through the audience as she carefully sets her guitar down. When I reach her, she gives me a warm hug, her lips on mine in front of everyone, including Jasper.
“You were awesome. I mean it.” My hand slips around her waist to the open back of her dress.
“Thank you. What a great crowd. I need a little fresh air. Can we go?”
Hell, yeah. I want to feel more of that soft skin, make promises, and remind her how good it is between us.
Jack answers in my ear. “Parking lot is clear.”
Out front, the street is empty and despite having Jack at my back, I get this unease I can’t explain. Maybe it’s the abandoned warehouse to the right of the parking lot or the open street where anyone could drive by, take a shot, and be gone in an instant.
Sienna is clueless as she rattles on about the set and how good it feels to sing with a group again.
“Let’s head back.” I put my arm around her waist.
Jack feels the wrong vibe, too. “Get her inside.”
“Copy that.”
I lead Sienna toward the door where Jack stands ready, his hand under his vest.
Several other couples come and go as we cross the parking lot and one young girl calls out, “Hey? Are you really that woman who married Peter Olafson?”
The girl is far too young for the man on her arm and when I glance into his face, I catch his eyes shift.
Ah fuck.
“Jack, it’s going down!” I mainline adrenaline as the guy pushes the girl into Jack.
“Peter? Is that you,” Sienna pales and stares with a ‘deer-in-the-headlight’ thing going on.
Double fuck.
No way am I letting this prick take my woman.
“Tell your bodyguard if he takes one more step, you die.” Her undead husband shoves a Glock into her side. “Move.”
I try to bring the drama down a notch. “Damn good plastic surgeon, Olafson.”
His reptilian face smiles the way skin does when pulled too tight. “I had everything planned perfectly. Shehad to go and fuck up everything, didn’t you? You just couldn’t let it be.” He shakes her, then backs her up toward the street where a car waits, engine running.
I’ve got maybe seconds before he takes off with her but what to do? He’s got his forearm around her neck, the barrel’s tip dug into her waist.
Eyes and body language say it all. He’s going to kill me first. When the barrel points at my chest, I pounce, hoping to give Jack a chance to fire off a shot.
Sienna screams, the back of her head crunches Olafson’s nose, and the gun goes off. Ignoring the excruciating pain in my side, I crack the asshat’s jaw with my fist. When he goes down, I roll with him onto the asphalt, two sets of hands struggling for the weapon.
On the edge of insanity, Olafson is stronger than ten men but I got the love of a good woman as motivation. I grab his wrist and twist. No way is he taking her from me. When he jabs his left hand into my fucking wound, I shout, wince, and my grip loosens long enough for him to slip out from under me.
Hell, no.I grab at his shirt, the muzzle of the forty-five in my gut.
