I watched her go, yearning hitting me square in the chest. I wanted to follow her upstairs. Strip her down to bare skin. Lose myself in her until the rest of the world stopped mattering.
But I'd seen flower vendors a couple blocks away on my way here. So, I went.
I wasn't halfway there when a car t-boned another at the intersection ahead. The screech of metal on metal. The crunch of impact. Glass shattering across the pavement.
Time slowed.
Everyone on the sidewalk stopped, heads turning, phones coming out. A woman gasped. A man ran toward the wreck, yelling something about calling 9-1-1.
But I wasn't looking at the accident. I was looking at the two vehicles that pulled up right after—a van and an SUV, positioning themselves like they were helping.
Only they weren't.
The back doors of the van swung open, and two men stepped out. Both big. Both holding guns low, just out of sight from the crowd. Their eyes locked on me.
"Levi Dane," one of them said, voice calm. "Get in the van."
I stopped walking.
Charleston citizens were flooding the street now, trying to help the people in the crashed cars. The chaos gave the gunmen cover. Nobody was looking at us.
"Who the fuck are you?" I asked, keeping my voice low.
"Doesn't matter," the second man said. "You either get in the van, or your journalist gets paid a visit. Your choice."
My blood went cold.
Amelia.
I could take these two down. Probably. Disarm one, use him as a shield, put the other on the ground before backup arrived.
But that was a risk. And I wouldn't put her in danger. Not for anything.
"Fine," I said.
I walked toward the van.
The first man grabbed my arm and yanked me inside. The second followed, slamming the doors shut behind us. Before I could react, they zip-tied my hands behind my back, tight enough to bite into my wrists. The van started moving.
"What do you want?" I asked.
They didn't answer.
Just sat there, relaxed. Confident. Like they'd done this a hundred times before.
Well, fuck them. Even with my hands tied behind my back, I was deadly.
I shifted on the bench, pretending to adjust myself, getting my feet under me. Then I kicked. Hard.
My boot caught the first guy square in the chest. He slammed back against the van wall, gasping. The second guy lunged at me, but I twisted and drove my shoulder into him, sending him sprawling.
Then I used my head. Literally. I crashed my forehead into the first guy's nose. Bone crunched. Blood sprayed. He dropped like a stone.
The second guy tried to get up, and I headbutted him, too. Once. Twice. Three times. His nose split open. Blood covered my face, warm and sticky.
I didn't stop until they stopped moving.
I was breathing hard, adrenaline screaming through my veins. I had to move fast.
