The pistol digs into my side. My stiletto heels clack on the terrazzo floor. Blood flow swishes like the roar of a seashell against my eardrum.
In the short path we’ve trudged, being led out of the courtroom and down the back hallway, I’ve had a thousand thoughts.
At least I managed to send the text to Ryker. I’d had it ready each time I went to court, like a superstitious precaution. One I’m grateful I took, despite the pushback I gave him about this.
It’s like we’re reliving the events from three years ago. I told him he was worrying for nothing. He relented. Our world imploded.
God, he must be furious with me.
At least he knows I love him this time.
No, I can’t think that way. That’s giving up. We made it through that nightmare. We’ll make it through this.
He has a tracker on me. And security all over the courthouse.
There’s still hope.
I’m puzzled as to what the endgame is here. Bryce sounded like a psycho—oh, I’m sorry, a fuckinggrandstander—who simply wanted to boast that he’d put me in a no-win situation.
He clearly revels in using people like pawns. It’s probably what an outsider would believe the Noires do. They take pride in their puppeteering and admitted as much at the Prohibition Ball, but while they gain from pulling those strings, they also thrive on the benefits their members reap.
Bryce is demented, seeking to torture. Which is why this doesn’t check out.
“What was the point of that asshole confessing everything if you’re planning to kill me anyway?” Those words finally emerge in a snarl as the vinegary stench of trash wafts toward me.
“No one’s killing you. I’m getting you to safety.” The bailiff, who is obviously not a traditional bailiff, sounds dead serious. Like he’s my savior, who’s been dodging the throngs of scurrying people to get me to some super-secret safe place.
No one even acknowledged my yells for help. They were drowned out by the panicky howls from the rest of the building. And an explosion.
What if Bryce did something to Ryker?
No, it’s Ryker. He’s fine. His security team is terrifying.
“Getting me to safety from wha—” My words are devoured by another explosion. This one is outside somewhere.
“The chaos.” Seemingly prepared for that blast, he tucks me into his side to guide me out a door that leads to a slight ramp and graces me with sarcasm. “Have you been too checked out to notice the entire building is being evacuated?”
I scoff, the rancid odor of the dumpster jostling my stomach acid. “And that doesn’t have anything to do with Bryce Wakeford needing to escape or someone trying to harm me or the people I’m with?”
“You must be mistaken, ma’am.” His tone is dry, like he’s bored. “I don’t know Bryce Wakeford. But I do know there is an attack on the courthouse, and I was hired to escort you out.”
That’s bullshit, but I still test it. “Then let me go.”
He glares around the corner, which is devoid of people. That must be where the explosion just came from, clearing the area. “Can’t do that. Like I said, I was hired to escort you.”
“Well, who the fuck hired you, and where the hell were you told to take me?”
He yanks me along, his thumb and index finger digging into the flesh of my bicep as he tows me past a couple of side streets, toward an alleyway. “Ryker Noire hired me to take you far away from here.”
What. The. Fuck?
That can’t be right. Ryker would never hire someone to take me far away. If he had someone on the inside working for him, he’d have them bring me to him.
And then it hits me. Bryce couldn’t have anyone harm me, or it would nullify the attorney-client privilege. Honestly, even his threatening manner did that, though it would be harder to prove. But he set this all up to look as though Ryker attacked the courthouse. So, if I came forward, I’d be disbarred and appear as though I was falsely testifying to save my fiancé.
Jesus.This guy is ten steps ahead.
Another tip from Ty flits through my mind.“Never let them change your location. Your chance of survival plummets once you’re relocated. Do whatever is necessary to stay where you are.”
