I tucked my wings back, bile rising at the sight of the carnage. I looked at Tristan, who was pushing his gun into his waistband, then at Jarod who was staring at myshoulders.
Iblanched.
Could he . . . could he see mywings?
My heartbeat strengthened, vibrating against my palate, making the inside of my mouth taste like apenny.
“Mon Dieu. Mon Dieu,” Sasha’s voice rose from behindme.
That’s what had caught Jarod’sattention.
Not mywings.
Not. My.Wings.
Besides, if he could see them, then he could touch them, and I hadn’t felt his fingers on my wings. Or had I? My chaotic pulse seemed to have numbed my body and thinned mymemory.
“We wait for the police,” Jarod said calmly, turning his gaze to one of the fallen bodies. “And, Tristan, call the cleanupcrew.”
Tristan’s jaw clenched as though he wanted to protest, but he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his list ofcontacts.
They have a cleanup crew on call?How often did this sort of thing happen? I didn’t ask, because I didn’t want to know. I kept my wings tucked but present, finding comfort in their familiar weight. A few minutes later, two cops walked into the restaurant, gunsraised.
“Monsieur Adler,” one of themsputtered.
The female officer flanking the other copfrowned.
“Put the gun down, Christine,” the first onehissed.
Even though it seemed to take everything in her to force her arms to holster the weapon, she did. “What happened inhere?”
I wasn’t sure if Jarod would explain. He didn’t seem like the type toexplain.
“They were bad men,” Layla said, index finger trembling in midair as she pointed at the three bodies. “They attacked MonsieurAdler’s girlfriend. It was self-defense.”
My cheeks pinked. In the scope of things, being called Jarod’s girlfriend should’ve been the least of my worries. My wings reflexively curled around me as though they could somehow shield me from everyone’s scrutiny, becauseeveryonewas looking at me now. Actually, that wasn’t true. Jarod was staring at the broken bottle that lay on the ground, its serrated edges darkened by blood. His andmine.
Another wave of uniformed men and women came in—police andEMTs.
“I’ll take care of everything, MonsieurAdler,” the male cop was telling Jarod, who gave him a slownod.
I shouldn’t have found Jarod’s ties to the police surprising, yet the scope of his influence didn’t cease to astonishme.
“The cleaning crew’s on their way,” Tristan said. “Should I callFrancis?”
Jarod nodded again, his eyes now riveted to the crimson splotches tarnishing the shine of my patentstilettos.
“Leigh, are you riding back with us?” Tristanasked.
Jarod’s gaze banged against me. “Did you expect her to fly out ofhere?”
Iblanched.
Tristan frowned, looking between Jarod and me. “Um,non.”
It wasn’t my imagination. Jarod sounded annoyed. Was it withme?
I took a step toward him. “I’m sorry, Jarod. About tonight. This isn’twhat—”
