“The van’s there.” Aspen points toward a collection of old buildings in a yard adjacent to the church, where the amber glow of lamps reveals the roof of a vehicle. I can sense he’s about to bolt, but I amnot letting the weasel wiggle his way out of this. Maybe he’ll learn to stop meddling.
I push him forward, so I’m behind him as we walk past a tall stone fence and walk straight into a familiar figure, who steps back, accidentally exhaling a cloud of smoke in Aspen’s face. He blinks a few times, clearly startled to see us.
Why is Simon Kemper here? As a close associate of our family, I’m not surprised to see him among the guests, but why is he out here, and not in church?
“Dalton?” I call out, seeking him in the yard.
“Hey, man,” Aspen says. “We’re looking for the groom. He might have been unloading some fireworks?"
Kemper looks at me over Aspen’s shoulder. “Hm. I’m pretty sure I did see a big guy in a burgundy suit walk off somewhere with a staff member…”
I can’t believe it. He’s raising his eyebrows at me as if trying to say I told you so’. Is he implying Dalton’s cheating on me on our wedding day? After the emotional reunion we had and the wonderful week that followed?
Kemper must be dead wrong about this, but I still take a step in the direction he’s indicated, because it would be just like Dalton to accidentally lock himself somewhere. Last Wednesday, I had to get him out of Mother’s panic room.
I pass Kemper, heading toward the two men standing by the van, because they might know more about Dalton’s whereabouts, but even in this cold, I pick up on the scent clinging to Kemper from up close. After all, I was the one to create it.
I am being rude, I know, but I’d rather explain myself later than ignore instincts learned over the course of a life forged by danger.
Kemper’s back collides with the fence as I shove him back, bringing the discreet pen-syringe I always—always—have on me dangerously close to his neck.
I speak up, my voice rough like jagged steel. “Where is my groom?”
Kemper raises his hands, looking straight at me with wide eyes. “Wh-what? I’m just the messenger. Don’t take it out on me.” Now that I’m closer, I can smell Dalton’s perfume on him with more clarity. Kemper cocks his head to inch away from the needle, and I smile, because the more afraid he is, the bigger the chance he’ll spill the information I need.
“You smell of him. It’s all over you,” I growl, leaning closer and inhaling through my nose.
Kemper doesn’t blink, but with the threat of the needle, he won’t dare attack me. “Corvus. This is some kind of silly misunderstanding. Okay, I did say shit about him when it wasn’t my place to. I apologiz—”
The van rattles so abruptly my attention is on it in an instant. There’s a scream muffled by metal, and the vehicle’s back door slams open, spitting out a man with a bloodied nose.
One of the men in overalls, who so far has watched me threaten Kemper like a good boy, now steps toward his fallen comrade, eyes wide with anger. Startled, I’m not sure if it’s worth investigating, but the raging worker takes a step back, fleeing from a firework dashing out of the van with a shrill whistle. It collides with his back, he falls face first into the snow, and my heart skips a beat, because in that moment I know who caused this havoc.
“Dalton?”
Kemper tries to pull out of my grasp, and I make the split-second decision to sink the needle into his neck. If he really had nothing to do with this mess, I’ll send him flowers later.
“You motherfucker!” the man hit by the firework yells, rolling in the snow to extinguish the flames clinging to his thick winter outfit. He’s lucky he’s wearing this much padding.
The other guy who stood by the van looks around at the chaos, and I’m already dashing his way as he reaches under his jacket. Aspen gets to him first. I’ve completely forgotten I forced him to accompany me here, but he jumps on the worker’s back like a homicidal monkey.
I envision him bleeding out in the snow, eyes wide in a face resting at an awkward angle, but my kid cousin shoves his fingers into the bastard’s eye, as if he wants to hold onto its socket on this thrill ride. The goon shrieks, dropping the gun as he reaches to his face in a frantic effort to save his eye.
Huh. So he’s not only good at spending the family fortune on clothing and gadgets after all.
The struggle continues, but all I care about is my fiancé, and when something moves inside the open van, I step over the man hit by the firework and peek inside.
I feel faint at the sight of wooden boxes filled with yet more explosives, because the fire that sent that one rocket out could have spread to them all.
“What the actual fuck, Dalton?” I demand, shoving one of the crates outside as I crawl over the blackened spot on the van floor, heading for my man.
My heart sinks. He’s sitting among the crates like yet another object to transport. He’s gagged, has a bloodied face, and going by the way his hands are stuck behind him, he must be cuffed. Dalton mumbles frantically as I get to him so fast I stumble into the cloud of perfume. I’m at the source at last.
I pull his gag out first, because my fury can wait until Dalton’s safety is no longer on the line.
“Kemper! Fucking Kemper. Is he still out there? He’s an absolute psycho!” he spits out at the pace of a machine gun. “He’s dangerous. And he brought three more guys. Are you on your own?”
Is it wrong of me to barely register his words, waiting for the right moment to press my lips against his?
