If I kept waiting, the only thing I was going to end up with was regret and a name on the wall.
I was done waiting.
I wanted her in every version of the future where I still had a pulse. My Quinn. My fucking home.
“King and…” I started.
“Queen,” she finished.
“Any backup on our side?” Valkyrie asked before we made our move, teeth clenched.
“Not yet,” Miami said.
I could hear Miami’s breathing suddenly spike through the static.
“Wait,” he said. “Holy shit.”
“What,” I snapped.
“Bikes,” he said. “A lot of them. Coming in hot.”
Valkyrie’s head jerked toward me.
“Serpents?” I asked.
No answer from Miami, just static.
A fresh volley of gunfire slammed into our cover. One of the patio sets behind us shuddered, stuffing blowing out of a ripped cushion.
“Fuck!” I shouted.
I glanced at Valkyrie, replayed her saying “Queen.”
Those words we spoke shouldn’t have worked in this context. They were too big. Too romantic. Too stupid, considering we were both crouched in borrowed cover on a shitty stretch of boardwalk with the Bolivar cartel and Vincinos trying to perforate us.
It still fit.
I nodded. Just once.
“Okay,” I said. “On three. We go up, we put as many of them down as we can. If we die, we die side by side. If we live, we’re talking about what the fuck this is when the guns stop.”
Her throat bobbed. Her mouth twitched. “Deal.”
I raised my gun, muscles coiling.
“One,” I said.
Bullets chewed wood closer now. Shouts. Someone barking orders, their voice thinned by adrenaline.
“Two.”
I could hear bikes in the distance now. A faint,growing roar under the ocean and the gunfire. We couldn’t be here when the Serpents arrived. We needed to end this, now, or we wouldn’t leave this spot. We’d die before we could even get to our feet.
Miami’s voice came in my ear, urgent, at the same time I finished my count.
“Jersey, Valk, heads up—”
“Three,” I said.
