by Linda Kage
Mrs. Garrison's mouth worked in shock. "That . . . that's not the same thing. You liked what we did." When he didn't answer, she let out a noisy, wet sob. "Didn't you?"
"Why don't you put the gun down, and then come out here to talk to me?"
"Why don't you answer my fucking question?" Mrs. Garrison screamed and stomped her feet.
On top of me, Quinn's weight seemed to grow heavier. When I felt something wet trickle over my arm, I looked up into his face, but his eyes were closed. Oh, shit. Not Quinn.
Turning my gaze toward Mason, he shifted just enough so I could see his face. He met my gaze as he answered Mrs. Garrison. "No. I didn't like it."
"Yes!" She wailed, stomping her feet some more and dancing around like the whack job she was. "You did too. You loved it. You loved it as much as I did."
At the desk, Bradshaw remained slumped backward in his chair with more than I'd ever wanted to see of his insides splattered on the wall behind him.
I closed my eyes and shuddered, holding Quinn a little tighter and hoping he was okay. A surreal sense of shock blanketed me, making everything fuzzy and dreamlike, even Mrs. Garrison's ranting as she sobbed, "You loved it, and you love me."
Mason's voice was steady as he said, "I love Reese."
"No!"
I'm not sure what he was trying to accomplish, but if he wanted to agitate her and send her into an even crazier, raving fit, he was totally succeeding. I kind of wondered if Mason was on a suicide mission, trying to get us all killed. But at least I'd be able to tell Reese later on how he never wavered from his feelings for her, not even to patronize a cracked, wild woman.
That was, if I survived long enough to see Reese again.
When police sirens rang from outside, Mrs. Garrison freaked. "Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." She pointed the gun toward Bradshaw, but he was already long gone. Shuffling with indecision, she glanced my way, but I think she only saw Quinn's prone form slumped on top of me and the blood pooling under us. "Oh, God," she moaned. "What do I do?"
"Patricia," Mason said calmly. "It's over. Just . . . put the gun down."
She didn't. She lifted it to her face, stuck the barrel in her mouth, and pulled the trigger.
***
Mason rushed to Quinn and me and knelt beside us. "E.? Are you okay?"
"I told you not to follow me," I grumbled.
"Right. Like I ever listen to you." With a snort, he shook his head, only to suck in a breath as he turned his attention to Quinn. "Is he . . . ?"
"No, he's alive." I stroked my rescuer's hair. "I can feel his breath on my neck."
"Oh, thank God." Grasping Quinn's shoulder, Mason gritted his teeth as he rolled the brick mass off me. "Damn, he's solid muscle, isn't he? Freaking football players."
I sucked in air as soon as Quinn was off me. Wow, it felt good to breathe again. As Mason gently settled our friend onto his back beside me, I sat up and crawled toward them.
"There's a lot of blood." When I looked down, I realized it was smeared all over me, as well as his left side.
"Yeah." Mason gulped bleakly, and lifted Quinn's arm to find the source of the wound. "Here. She hit him in the arm."
I ripped off the outer shirt I was wearing until I was down to a bloodstained camisole. When I applied it with some pressure to Quinn's arm, he sucked in a breath.
Long dark eyelashes fluttered before he shook his head and opened his eyes. He focused on me first, and then turned his head slightly to take in Mason before he turned back to me. "What happened?"
"You refused to leave me alone in the office with my father, you sweet, noble idiot," I told him.
"And you got a little shot because of it," Mason added.
"Really?" Quinn frowned as he tried to sit up. "I don't feel shot. Nothing hurts." When I motioned to the bloody wound on his arm that I was pressing my shirt into, he sucked in a breath, and his face immediately drained of color. "Okay, now I feel it."
His voice grew faint, and he swayed.
Mason caught his shoulder, steadying him. "Whoa, there. Maybe you should lie back down before you faint again."
Horror flooded Quinn's expression. "I fainted? Oh, man. You're not going to tell Ten that, are you? He'd never let me live it down."
I snorted out a shocked laugh, even though the sound wavered at the end into an odd kind of sob. "Yeah, I think I can manage to avoid mentioning that and focusing more on the part where you dived in front of a speeding bullet to save my life."
Quinn nodded, not catching my amusement. "Thanks. I'm sorry I passed out on you. How mortifying." His eyes were so sincere; I shot Mason a disbelieving glance. But seriously, had this guy just apologized to me after risking his own life to save mine?
"I think she'll find a way to forgive you, man." Mason's lips tightened as he tried to hide his own smile.
"Good." Quinn sat up again, only to spot the bodies of my father and Mrs. Garrison across the room. "Oh," he said, his eyes widening as he went from white to green. "Are they . . . ?"
"Yeah." I bit my lip, refusing to look at them. My stomach protested and I covered my mouth. "Let's get out of this room."
"Good idea."
Mason and I helped Quinn to his feet. He still looked woozy, but he could stand without any help.
As soon as we cleared the office, a shout from the front of the club told us the police had arrived. Mason called back, telling them we were coming out.
I don't know how much time passed after that, but the three of us clung together as we were questioned about what had happened and a paramedic looked at Quinn's arm. The poor guy was even more embarrassed about passing out when he realized the bullet had barely grazed his bicep. It was so minor a wound that the EMT decided to patch the scratch up right there at the bar without even taking him to the hospital.
Flesh wound or not, I still thought he was beyond brave, and I told him so as I smacked a grateful kiss to his cheek. Then I just kind of lingered close to him, feeling safe with him beside me.
When he flushed bashfully and ducked his face, the officer nodded in his direction. "Now what were you doing here again, Mr. Hamilton?"
I didn't know it was possible for Quinn's face to turn even redder, but it did. Glancing quickly at Mason, he mumbled, "Mrs. Garrison called me in early before my shift tonight. She said she needed some crates moved. But . . . that's not what she really wanted." After clearing his throat, he continued. "When Eva showed up to talk to, er . . . Mr. Mercer, I stayed with her because I didn't trust him. While I was on my phone, pretending to listen to music, I texted her boyfriend, Pick, telling him what was happening."
"You texted Pick?" I sat up straighter and glanced around the club, looking for him.
Quinn nodded, wincing as if apologizing to me for his trickery. "I had no idea Mrs. Garrison would pull a gun like that, but my gut told me something wasn't right. So I followed my instincts."
"Thank goodness you did," the officer said. He didn't have many questions after that, and he wandered away to get more information from the office.
I glanced at the two men flanking me, glad they were there. If not for their presence, I'd probably be a freaking, irrational, hysterical mess.
I blew out a breath, needing some comedic relief. "You know, this is the second time I've been shot at within a year. This shit's getting old."
Mason snorted and shook his head. "Yeah, well, it's the second time I've had to get a gun away from the person who shot at you."
I snorted right back, not impressed by his dinky problems, but I lifted my finger as a thought occurred. "Oh, by the way, you totally suck as a negotiator."
He threw his hands in the air, sending me an incredulous scowl. "What did you want me to say to her, that I loved her back?"
"Yeah," I retorted. "The woman had a gun, numb nuts. She could've so easily shot at you for telling her you loved Reese. Oh, shit. Have you called Reese?"
"Yes." He rolled his eyes. "She's freaking out because she's stuck watching your kids and
can't come be with us."
"Poor girl." I patted his arm, and studied him a second longer when I felt his muscles tremble under my touch. He was still pretty shaken over everything. But then, he wasn't the only one. "Are you okay?"
He glanced at me with his eyebrows raised. "Sure. Why? No one shot at me."
What a liar.
"Well . . . " I motioned down the hall toward the office. "Your rapist is finally dead." That had to mean something.
He shook his head as if he didn't want to think about what had happened back there, but then he glanced at me. "So is yours."
I gulped. "Yeah." Oh, God. I didn't want to go there either. "I guess that means you're in about as much shock as I'm in right now, huh?"
"Basically." He took my hand and squeezed my fingers in companionship, letting me know everything would be okay, eventually.
Quinn glanced between us, his eyes wide. "I should probably pretend I never heard any of that, huh?"
I thought I'd be horrified to realize yet another person knew my deep, dirty, dark secret, but honestly, it didn't matter anymore. Pick had pulled me from all the horrors that had haunted me, and now I could find a way to deal with it.
But thinking about Pick made me crave him even more. If Quinn had texted him an SOS, why the hell hadn't he come? I needed his—
And then, as if my cravings had drawn him there, I heard him shout my name. At the entrance of the club, he was being waylaid by a group of police officers holding him back and telling him he couldn't enter. When he spotted me, he shouted my name again and tried even harder to break through the barricade.
I hopped off the stool and hurried to him. "It's okay. He's here for me."
A leery copy shot me a look but finally let Pick in.
He almost broke a rib he crushed me against him so hard.
"Oh, baby. Shit. Are you okay? I've been freaking out so bad since I read that text." Spotting the blood on me, he paled. "Why're you bleeding? Where're you hurt? Did he touch you? What happened?"
"I'm okay. It's not my blood. I'm okay." I hugged him back, definitely feeling better because I was finally where I wanted to be most in the world. In his arms.
And yet now that I had him where I need him most, all the emotions I'd been bottling up spilled out. Clutching him tighter, I buried my face in his neck, breathed in drudges of his soothing coconut smell, and cried.
"That's it," he murmured, cupping the back of my head and rocking me. "Let it out, baby. Just let it all out."
He had no idea why I was crying, or what I'd just survived. He just knew I needed to release all the fear, horror, shock, and distress that was crowding its way through my system.
I have no idea how long he held me there until my tears dried up, but I was dizzy from how hard I'd sobbed, and my head ached. I pulled back to look up at him, and he kissed my cheek, then wiped my face dry with his palms.
"What took you so long to get here?" I said.
He shook his head, looking dazed. "A social worker showed up at the garage to talk to me."
Oh, shit. And here, I'd barely scratched through the surface of the numb shock of what had happened in the office. This shoved another cold wash of dread through me. "Julian?" I whispered, clutching his arm.
Thank God he was with Reese. No officials would know where he was; they wouldn't be able to steal him away. Maybe Pick and I could sneak over to Mason's place and run off together with the babies, somewhere no social worker would ever find us.
Pick nodded, but he didn't look worried. "Before she died, Tristy wrote on a napkin that she wanted to give me guardianship of him. The state is taking that into account as well as a statement from one of the police officers who saw me taking care of him. They're going to put it under review, but she thinks I have an honest-to-God chance of being able to adopt him."
"Oh my God," I screeched and flung myself at him for another hug. "That's so amazing."
"I know." He began to pet my hair. "Hamilton's text came in while she was talking to me. I didn't read it until after she'd left. And then . . . fuck, Tink. I have never been so scared in my life." Clutching my face in his hands, he stared at me hard before growling, "How could you be so stupid?"
I blinked, not expecting that question. "What?"
"You want to know why I didn't tell you about him buying this place? Because I knew you'd try to pull this. Well, no. No fucking way. If you left, I would've come after you and I would've kept looking until I found you. You made me a promise. You said you'd never leave. And I swear to God, you're going to keep that promise."
I nodded, and my lips trembled. "Okay."
He frowned at my easy acceptance. "Okay?"
"Okay, I will keep my promise. I'll stay with you forever."
His shoulders relaxed. "Yes, you will," he murmured before kissing me hard and pressing his forehead to mine. "God, I love you so much."
Crap, I thought I was done with my tears for a while, but more crept down my cheeks. "I love you more,"
"Not even possible." He shuddered and just held me. When I heard a sniff, I lifted my face to find how red his eyes were.
"Oh, baby. It's okay." I smoothed my fingers over his face and kissed his cheeks. "It's all over now."
He just shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed. "I don't like almost losing you."
"Well, you don't ever have to worry about him trying to take me away again."
Pick blew out a breath before glancing around. "Where is the bastard anyway? Have they already taken him into custody?"
"Um . . . " I had no idea how to even start to tell him what had happened.
"Who owns this place?" One of the detectives asked, breaking into my thoughts.
"Oh!" I pointed to Pick. Yeah, I had a lot more to tell him than I'd initially thought. "Right here."
Pick glanced at me. "What?"
"There's a deed with your name on it in the office."
He shook his head, still confused. "I'm not following."
Yeah, there was plenty left to tell him. And there were a whole new batch of problems for me to work through. But at least this time around, I knew I had people who loved me and were willing to help me heal. To me, that meant I had everything.
Pick's Epilogue
PICK
Three Months Later
Some days I was grateful to Eva for the deal she'd made with her dad. As the new owner of Forbidden, I only had one job instead of two. Cleaning up all the mess after the shooting had taken up so much time, I'd had to quit my position at the garage, which was fine because now that things were beginning to settle back into place, I could be with my family more.
Other things were better as well. Tink and I had found a bigger apartment in a better neighborhood, closer to Reese and Mason. And not just a bigger apartment, but a three-bedroom apartment so Julian and Skylar each had their own space and their own cribs, away from our room. We could be as loud as we wanted to be.
Though I think the kiddos missed sleeping together because sometimes Tink and I still couldn't get them to settle down at night until they were snuggled up next to each other.
We'd also hired a lawyer to help us adopt Julian. The state had allowed us to keep him as foster parents after we'd gone through a couple classes. But he still wasn't ours for good.
But most of the time I was grinding my teeth in frustration for all the hassle Eva had put me through by making that deal with her dad. I had so much more responsibility now; it was crazy. Sitting in my office—which had been completely redesigned and moved to another room in the past few months after the murder-suicide—I was trying to figure out schedules and fix an incorrect order plus fill out all these freaking legal forms I didn't even know existed until I became a club owner when a knock on my door had me lifting my head.
It was a Thursday, so I had to hurry because I still didn't have a new bartender to replace me to help on ladies' night. I'd already lost the two I had hired, because neither of those had worked out. So, I was stuck working t
he floor every Thursday.
The guy I found lingering in my doorway looked youngish with waves of dark hair and bright grass-green eyes.
"I'm looking for . . . Pick?" he said as if he were sure he had my name wrong.
I nodded. "That's me. How can I help you?"
Shifting his weight from foot to foot and appearing nervous, he held out his hand when I stood up and approached him.
"Sir, I'm Asher Hart. And I—"
"Have we met before?" I frowned as I moved closer. He looked so damn familiar.
He faltered, even more antsy as he blinked. "No. I don't think so."
"Hmm." I studied him harder as he went on.
"Anyway, my buddies and I just started this band. We're kind of heavy metal with a folksy twist and call ourselves Non-Castrato. I think we'd really fit in with the Forbidden crowd."
I arched an eyebrow, making my brow ring pull a little. "Oh, you would, would you?"
We'd never had a live band before, didn't even have a deejay or an area appropriated for music. But the seed he planted was already making my head spin with a sudden flurry of ideas.
"Yeah," he went on, looking excited. "You guys have been getting really popular lately. Just imagine what holding a few gigs for local groups would do for you." Then he added, "We could play for free."
I grinned and shook my head. This kid was quite the salesman. But still . . . "I'm sorry, Hart, but I haven't even considered bringing bands in here. I'm still trying to find another bartender right now."
"I could bartend," he said helpfully, his eyes full of hope. Then he shrugged, and his lips lit with a rueful grin. "I mean, if we're not going to be paid to play, I'd have to make money somehow. On the nights we're not singing, I can mix drinks."
His enthusiasm warmed me, but I only sat back down in my big-ass boss chair and folded my hands together under my chin as I studied him. "You must not have a woman."
The question seemed to catch him off guard. "Uh, no. Why?"
"You just promised all your nights to me. That's not going to leave a lot of time for anything else."
A slow grin spread across his face. "Are you saying I'm hired?"