Winston needed help.Fast.There was too much blood.
With a sob that nearly choked her, she plunged through the door into the dark night. Her legs tried to buckle beneath her as she ran the length of the warehouse, heading toward the party lights strung along the back of Schooner Wharf Bar even as she fumbled in her pocket for her phone, needing to call 9-1-1. The street gave way to the worn boards of the dock built along the waterfront, but every stumbling step made her feel as if she was stuck in a nightmare. It seemed the faster she ran, the farther away her destination moved.
Bam!
This time she felt the air displace by the bullet as it blasted past her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the gunman racing along the dock at the back of the warehouse. He was nothing but a dark silhouette. The pistol in his hands was darker still.
There was something about the way the man moved that she—
Bam!
This time the flash of fire from the end of the weapon preceded an oddclinkingsound. Searing pain ripped through the top of her shoulder and sent her stumbling off the dock, her phone smacking into the weathered boards on her way down.
Time stood still.
Or, at least it slowed. Because she was falling forever. Falling, falling,falling.
And then…water.
It smelled of anti-fouling paint and fish. But it was cool and dark and welcoming. As it closed over her head, she thought,My heart is full of longing for the secrets of the sea.
She’d heard Wolf quote that once. He’d said it was from a poem, but she couldn’t remember which.
Strange that the words should come back to her now.
Chapter 4
9:07 PM…
Chrissy was late.
Which meant Wolf’s mood was quickly approaching the depths to which it’d sunk earlier. And the jackhole sitting on the barstool on the other side of Romeo certainly wasn’t helping matters.
The guy was drunk and getting drunker by the minute. He’d been rude to the bartender, wiggling his beer bottle and snapping his fingers when he ran low on brew. And he’d made comments about every woman who walked by in a voice loud enough to be heard over the crooning lead singer of The Salty Cod Band.
In short, the man was the human equivalent of gas station sushi. A guy garan-damn-teed to give everyone around him a bad case of the shits.
Wolf leveled a stony stare at the drunk’s nose and wondered how good it would feel to plant his fist there.
Good,he decided. Awful good.A little somethin’ to take the edge off.
Unfortunately, he had to satisfy himself with a grumble under his breath as he turned back to his own beer. If he’d formed actual words, they would not have been polite. Which would inevitably have started a fight. Which would have led to him putting the douchebag in a chokehold until the bastard went limp. And even though that entire exercise would have beensoooosatisfying, with so many witnesses, no doubt he’d have ended up spending the night in an eight by ten, looking at assault charges.
As his grandmother told him many times,“The way of the troublemaker is thorny.”
He already had enough things giving him fits—cough, Chrissy Szarek, cough, cough—without adding Mr. Drunkovich to the mix.
Apparently, Romeo wasn’t of a similar mind. When a young woman in a green halter top walked by—she couldn’t have been much older than twenty-one—and the drunk said, “I bet she sucks dick like there’s a prize inside,” Romeo turned and growled lowly, “Hey fuckwit, how about you shut your face-hole before I stick my fist in it, eh?”
One of the drunk’s eyelids hung lower than the other, but his voice was surprisingly clear when he said, “Fuckwit, huh? In my experience with humans, the ones who cast the first stones are usually the most guilty.”
“Oh, yeah?” Romeo’s smile was patently false. “Well in my experience with fuckwits, you are one.”
A storm cloud that would put a supercell to shame fell over the drunk’s face.
Wolf sighed heavily and carefully set aside his beer. He might’ve let the better angels of his nature win out when it came to starting a fight, but the devil in him wasn’t going to let him walk away from a brawl once it was in the making. Especially one that involved one of his closest friends.
To his surprise however, the drunk didn’t take a swing at Romeo. Instead, the dude grabbed his beer and slid off the stool, muttering something about guys who couldn’t take a joke as he stumbled into the crowd.
