I step back as they step in. But there are only so many steps back I can take before I’m in the terminal again, having to answer to airport security.
“Nice punch,” Skipper says.
I’ll accept the compliment later when all of this is over.
“I thought you were bikers. Not stalkers. Don’t tell me you took a page out of Conrad O’Neill’s book?”
“Not even to save my left ball,” Vex says.
I shoot them a knowing look and pick up Otis, burying his head in my breast. Carter Trescott knows he has good genes, but does he know them well enough to identify them on another person?
I’d rather not take the risk.
“This is Otis,” I introduce, keeping his face away from their prying eyes.
“Otis. That’s a good name,” Skipper says.
“I know, that’s why I chose it.”
Vex breaks the small talk with a dramatic sigh. “What are you doing here, Carmen?”
“I dunno.” I shrug. “Why don’t you tell me that?”
“You’re in trouble.” Skipper watches me with concerned eyes. “Conrad O’Neill isn’t going to stop.”
“Yeah, hence the airport.” I gesture to the building with a shaking hand, then hide it behind my back before they notice the trembling. We’re not supposed to be doing this. I said goodbye to them, watched their bodies fade into dust as I rode away from what was only meant to be a one-time thing anyway.
I think it’s safe to say it’s not.
“You can’t just fly away,” Carter says.
“I have a son to protect.”
“Conrad isn’t going to call it a day just because you’re out of state.”
“What do you think I should do? Head over to Europe instead?”
Carter looks done with my shit. “No, Carmen.” He tugs me away from the building out onto the sidewalk. His lowered voice grabs my attention in a heartbeat. “He’s powerful. His men are everywhere, spread out all over the country. He doesn’t lose.”
“Vegas is no place for a child.”
Skipper interjects, stealing my boarding pass. “New York. Sounds blissful. Truly. You won’t survive a week.”
“It’s Putnam county, actually.” I snatch the pass back and survey each of them. “Why are you doing this?”
“We want to protect you. It’s what we do.”
“I thought attending misogynistic auctions is what you do.”
“Look,” Skipper says. “Say what you want, preferably behind our backs. But what about Otis? What happens to him when you’re taken?”
I catch Carter staring at me calculatingly. His gaze flicks over to Otis, eyes fixated on bleach-blond hair that I now wish was brown.
I have two choices.
One: Remain here with the bikers who want to save me.
Two: Catch the flight to New York and rely on the woodland deer to come to my aid in case of attack.
