~ 51 ~
COLSON
It tore my heart out to leave her behind, but it had to be done. Staying together would’ve drawn too much attention. Sticking by her side, I’d be less of a protector, and more of a liability.
Besides, this last part was something Peyton had to do all by herself.
Alone.
Shit.
I paced the service corridor for the hundredth time, feeling worse than helpless. I was woefully unarmed, hopelessly outnumbered. And there were a lot of moving parts that hadn’t fallen into place yet. Guests were arriving quickly, and being ushered from the hallways. Theo was still locking down the logistics of what needed to be done.
“Are you tapped in yet?” I asked, clasping a hand over my earpiece.
No answer. Same as a minute ago.
SHIT.
More of Donovan’s men streamed past, causing me to turn away. They remained in tight lockstep with one another, moving fast enough for me to know they moved with a common goal.
I could only hope that goal had nothing to do with Ripley.
“Theo!” I hissed. “Are you there?”
I ducked into a lesser-traveled hallway, with only a handful of people. My mistake was not looking up. I bumped clumsily into a passerby, heading in the other direction. They apologized half-heartedly, and then stopped.
My blood ran cold when I saw who it was.
“Hollis?”
I recognized him as Acardi; one of Donovan’s mid-level men. The look of utter confusion on his face gave me a full two seconds before his mind registered exactly what was happening.
Two seconds was more than I needed.
“WAI—”
My knee connected with his midsection hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs, erasing anything he might’ve thought to say. I clamped my hand over his mouth and shoved him backwards, into an alcove that had probably been used for a payphone, a thousand years ago. He was still gasping around my fingers, desperate for oxygen, when I drove him full force into the wall.
Acardi’s head snapped back with a sickening thud. It left a spider-webbed wreckage of broken plaster behind him, fanning outward like the golden halo behind saints’ heads inRenaissance paintings.
“THERE HE IS!”
My head whipped over my shoulder. A giant of a tattooed man sprinted past the alcove in a chef’s apron. His paper hat, which had fallen off mid-stride, drifted comically to the floor.
Ripley?
A blur of pursuers dressed like members of the security team followed, close behind.
I let Acardi sink to the floor and ran after them.
FUCK.
“Theo?” I called out, thumping on my mic. “THEO!”
“Yes?”
“We’ve got—”
