"We'll take our chances," Jagger says.
The alarm screams outside.The sprinklers are doing their job—creating chaos, creating cover, creating the only window we're ever going to get.
I move to the door and crack it open.The hallway beyond is filled with guests moving toward exits.Staff directing traffic.
"Now," Jagger says to Marquez."Walk."
Marquez doesn't move.
Jagger growls something guttural in Spanish, which makes Marquez blanch.Slowly, he stands.His eyes never leave Jagger's face.There's something in that gaze—a promise, a threat, a vow.I will kill you for this.
But he walks toward the door.
Jagger
We burst through the emergency exit into the parking lot.
Behind us, the alarm still screams inside the building.Around us, nothing but parked cars and darkness and the sound of our breathing.
Marquez's eyes are scanning, calculating, waiting for his bodyguards to appear.
"Keep moving," I tell him.
Adena’s one step ahead of me, heading towards a row of bikes, outpacing me, hitching her dress with one hand while concealing the weapon in her other.
She picks an older Harley and slips off her heel.“Give me 30 seconds.”
Our eyes meet for one second, then she uses the heel to wedge off the side panel and plunges her fingers into the cavity.
"You’re a dead man, Jagger," Marquez hisses beside me."Nowhere you can hide that I won't find you.You'll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, wondering when I'm coming."
“Shut up,” I growl.
He laughs, his eyes flicking to the left.“Thirty seconds before he shoots you both.”
Paco.
Coming in fast at an angle that places Adena in his line of fire.His hand is already on his weapon, and he’s preparing to aim.
I swing Marquez around, using him as a shield and a barrier between us and Adena.
“Move and you’re the reason he dies,” I growl.
Paco spits out a curse, fury in his eyes.
The engine coughs, just once, loud enough to echo off the chapel walls.Paco’s hand twitches; he shifts his weight.I don’t think.I just move.
I yell at Adena to cover Marquez, shove him aside, and take Paco full-force before he can fire.We hit the asphalt hard, both our guns skittering out of reach.He comes up swinging, pure fury and blood.
Now it’s just me and him.
And I’m not letting him anywhere near her.
His fist comes at my face, and I roll, taking it on my shoulder instead.Fire shoots down my arm.I drive my elbow up toward his temple, and he shifts, blocks it with his forearm.We're a tangle of wet clothes and desperation, both of us fighting for position.
He gets a hand around my throat.
I see black spots.My ribs are screaming.I drive my knee up.He twists, takes it on his hip instead of where I aimed, but it breaks his grip.I gasp air back into my lungs and don't waste time thinking.I move on instinct—grab his hair, pull his head down, bring my forehead up to meet his face.
