Ren moves past me to the register behind the bar, and no one would know anything was wrong just by looking at her. She’s dressed in her usual figure-hugging jeans and tank. She appears confident and relaxed as she tends bar, but I recognize the telltale signs that she’s just as tense as I am.
Not wanting to be caught staring, I turn and wipe down the bar. The past week has been enlightening. When Ren’s distracted and not thinking about her father, she’s opening up to me more and more. I know it’ll take time, but so far she’s agreed to stay in Little Rock, and she’s contemplating what will come next once everything settles. She doesn’t want to tend bar permanently, but because of being on the run for so long, she hadn’t considered other options—long-term options. Now, she’s thinking about these things.
It’s ironic, because I’ve been working so hard on helping Ren find her way, that I haven’t realized how much I’ve changed. Before my injury, the idea of being vulnerable with a woman was always disconcerting. I never wanted to be that exposed and invested to the point that I could get hurt. But with Ren, I’d rather take that chance and prove how much I’m invested, because the idea of failing and losing her over not trying hard enough leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. One thing I don’t like to live with is regret, and if I lose Ren because I didn’t put everything I had into our relationship, that regret would eat at me until it drove me crazy. Besides, how can she have faith in us if I’m the one holding back? She does that enough for both of us.
Vibration from my back pocket distracts me from my thoughts, and I pull out my phone with a sense of dread. If Ren’s not the one texting or calling, it’s usually business-related.
Sure enough, it’s Martinez.
Not wanting to tip off Ren that something might be up, I tuck the phone back in my pocket. I then pick up the discarded rags from earlier that need to be tossed in the back. Knowing Ren has a good handle on the patrons, I leave the bar and head for the back kitchen. After dumping the rags, I veer off to Paul’s office.
When I find it empty, I close the door behind me, ignoring the double row of locks on the back of the office door. We’d made certain to turn Paul’s office into a secure safe room in case anything should happen at the bar.
I quickly call Martinez.
“There’s been another abduction,” Martinez says without preamble.
A string of curses leaves my lips as I rake a hand through my hair. We’d been hoping that it wouldn’t go down like this.
“My thoughts exactly,” Martinez says grimly. “This time it was a woman. The call came in thirty minutes ago. A cocktail waitress went outside behind the establishment to smoke, and when she didn’t come back after her break, a coworker went to get her. They found her pinkie finger and a photo of Serenity beside a still burning cigarette.”
Shit. This means the young girl that’d been taken a week and a half ago is dead, and now he has a new victim.
“This one’s twenty-one. He probably couldn’t get his hands on anyone younger now that parents are watching their kids like hawks. And you should know, the woman looks a lot like Serenity,” he informs.
I rub a hand over my face, frustrated. If Ren gets wind of this, she’ll take it personally as a punishment for sharing her story. I’ve finally got her moving forward, and this could set her back.
“I doubt he’s going after Serenity in the next few days now that he has a new victim, but be prepared anyway. This guy is unpredictable.”
“That’s the problem,” I grind out.
“Agreed. Stay at the bar, I’ll keep you updated.”
Martinez ends the call, and I repocket my phone. Is it lying if I don’t inform Ren of the new update? This psycho is torturing his own daughter without even contacting her. How the hell do I protect her from that? As I open the door to the office, I decide to keep the news to myself—for now. If she asks, I’ll tell her. But for now, there’s no point in upsetting her.
Twenty-six
Ren
I don’t know what woke me, and after a long minute, I realize that Holden’s not in bed with me. A frown forms as I sit up and look around the room. As usual, the light is on since I’m not ready to try sleeping in the dark. The bed is empty, and the door is cracked. Holden wouldn’t leave, so I know he’s somewhere nearby. Probably the living room.
After easing out of the bed, I bend down and pick up his discarded shirt from the floor. I slip it on over my nakedness and walk barefoot across the room. The days of wearing socks to bed are long over. Holden is like my own personal furnace. He radiates heat to the point that I can sleep beside him naked and still feel cozy and warm.
I silently make my way down the hall and peek around the corner. Holden’s sitting on the sofa in the living room, cleaning his guns. It’s a sign that he’s troubled. Whereas alcohol and sex are my distractions from my demons, Holden’s guns are his.
Pain from my nails pressing into my palms barely penetrates my consciousness as dread unfolds. Something’s wrong. I’d felt it earlier at the bar, and Holden seems ‘off’ somehow. Another girl has probably been kidnapped, and as terrible as it sounds, I don’t want to face that grisly reality. Carefully, I relax my clenched fists and back down the hall before I can be noticed.
My heart is heavy as I crawl back into bed, now wide awake. When is this going to end? How much blood needs to be shed?
* * *
The atmosphere is strained between Holden and me. It’s the following evening, and we’re back at Bull’s. Earlier in the day, we’d gone to the gun range and then went for a run. Not once had he mentioned an abduction, and I hadn’t asked. I think he knows I know, but neither of us want to go there.
I just can’t talk about it anymore. I did enough of that during the interview, and I see no point in discussing the things that are constantly haunting my mind. There is no escape from the horror of it all, so I do my best to distract myself.
Thankfully, Holden’s an easy distraction.
So is Bull’s.
It’s a Saturday night, and the bar is packed. There’s no time to think about anything other than serving the next patron. This kind of hustle and bustle has always been welcoming. I thrive on it, and my smiles are friendly as I fill drinks and pass along fresh bottles of beer.
While I’m slipping money into the register, Holden brushes past me as he reaches for a bottle of liquor on the top shelf. “Where did everyone come from?” he asks over the music.
“There was a concert at the arena earlier,” I tell him.
He frowns for a minute before moving back to his side of the bar. It’s obvious that he’s uneasy over the amount of people flowing into the bar.
For the next hour, we barely get a chance to catch our breath as more and more patrons stop in for drinks. Every so often, I catch sight of Holden’s alert eyes scanning the crowd as he pours drinks. At one point, he steps away from the bar and heads for the back, pulling out his cell phone. I’m assuming he’s calling for backup, because the crowd is visibly making him restless.
I paste a smile on my face and focus on filling as many orders as I can. Less than five minutes later, he comes back and says in my ear, “Clark is here in the crowd to help be on the lookout.”
“What happened to Harris?” Clark and Harris are usually paired together.
“Food poisoning. The others are following up on…the most recent abduction but will be here shortly. I don’t trust this crowd.”
My eyes connect with his, and I nod.
He quickly moves aside and dives back into serving drinks.
Some of my earlier contentedness with the busy atmosphere fades. The odds of my father coming for me a day after an abduction is low, but it’s Holden’s job to prepare for the possibility.
I’ll be glad when this night is over.
I’m smiling at a man and handing him a drink when an unexplained sound drowns out everything. There’s a bright flash and instantaneous heat as I’m violently thrown against the wall lined with liquor bottles
. A millisecond later, I’m collapsing onto the floor amongst broken glass and spilled liquor.
My ears are painfully ringing as smoke invades my nose along with the scent of blood and something else.
Something horrible.
Someone shakes my shoulder, and I blink a few times and look up to find Holden. His blond hair is a mess with fine pieces of debris scattered in it, and his face is coated with dust. A cut above his eyebrow snags my attention as blood drips into his left eye. When my eyes lower, I see his lips are moving while his hands run over me.
Gradually, my hearing comes back, and I can hear panicked screams and shouts for help.
Holden’s hands frame my face as he bends over me, his eyes anxious. “Are you okay?”
I slowly nod and try to look around. Everything’s hazy, yet somehow, the lights are still on—sort of. They’re flickering. I see broken glass behind the bar counter, but I can hear the chaos on the other side of it. I cough and sit up, brushing glass from my hair. “What happened?”
Holden’s expression turns grim. “A bomb, I would assume. Come on.” He grips my arm and helps me wobble to my feet.
When I get my first look at the rest of the bar, I’m dumbfounded. The outer wall facing the street is gone, and there’s shards of metal everywhere. Bodies have fallen in tangled heaps among tables that have been tossed around. It’s the sight outside, beyond the bar, that has my eyes widening. The bar across the street has been completely leveled, and a fire is burning out of control. Pieces of what was once the building are scattered in the street along with bodies.
I’m stunned by the sight, and it’s a struggle to pull my gaze away so I can look at Holden. “I don’t understand…”
Holden is also staring at the horrific sight. “The bar exploded.”
The explosion had caused all the windows in Bull’s to blow out, and pieces of the ruined bar from across the street had forcefully flown into ours. “Clark!” I exclaim, my eyes quickly searching the rubble for the blonde detective. People are starting to move and stumble to their feet while others are begging for help.
Holden grips my arm and begins tugging me towards the back of the building, away from the damage. Glass crunches beneath my feet as I stumble after him. “We need to get out of here,” he tells me.
“But Clark—”
“Will have to fend for herself,” he finishes.
I dig in my heels when we reach the hall that leads to the back exit. “We can’t just leave!”
Holden grips my shoulders, his eyes locking on mine with determination. “Ren, this could be a diversion. We have to go.”
I shake my head adamantly. “My father doesn’t do bombs. Holden, we need to help these people! There’s no other law enforcement around take control of the scene. You have to help,” I insist. There’s been too much death in my life for me to willingly walk away from what’s happening. There are people out there, just steps away, that need help.
“I’m not leaving your side,” he grinds out, tugging at me to get moving, but I refuse.
“So I’ll help!”
His expression becomes thunderous. “Absolutely not!”
“Then I’ll stay in the office,” I say desperately. “I’ll be safe, it has locks.”
Impatience flickers across his face. “Ren—”
I grab his bicep, my eyes fraught with emotion. “You don’t get it. Holden, if I can’t help them, you need to. I can’t just walk away. I can’t.”
His eyes search mine, and I can see him realizing that this isn’t just about the explosion. It’s about the people involved—people that I can’t willingly turn my back on. I couldn’t help the women my father has killed, but here, I can do something.
His eyes soften. “Baby, it’s not your fault—”
“We’re wasting time,” I cut in, straightening my shoulders with resolve. “We stay. We have to.”
He releases a string of curses before grabbing my hand and rushing me to the office down the hall. He ushers me inside and bends down, yanking the gun from his ankle holster. “Take this,” he says, shoving it into my hand. “Don’t open the door for anyone unless it’s me. And keep the door locked,” he orders.
I clutch the gun and nod.
His expression is severe as his eyes bore into mine with a warning to not disobey his orders. “Lock it,” he repeats.
“I will,” I promise.
Every curve of his face gives away how much he doesn’t want to leave me, and I quickly stand on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek before gently pushing on his chest. “Go. I’ll be here when you get back.”
With great reluctance, he nods and steps into the hall, closing the door firmly behind him. I’m certain he’s waiting on the other side to hear the locks click into place, so I hurriedly secure the door.
When I’m sure he’s gone, I begin pacing the room as I struggle to calm down. Now that I’m not focused on persuading Holden to help, I’m noticing that I have a few cuts on my hands, and my back is throbbing from where it’d made contact with the shelves behind the bar.
Is it possible my father planted the bomb? But why?
I suppose it could be a distraction. If he wants me alive to torture, he couldn’t very well plant the bomb in Bull’s, or that would likely cause my death. But a bomb? That’s never been my father’s calling card.
There’s the possibility that this could just be an unrelated terrorist attack. After all, there’d been a huge concert tonight, and with security being increased at arena events these days, someone could have targeted the popular college bar across the street.
My thoughts shift as I listen to cries and pleas for help coming from the bar. There aren’t any windows in the office, so I can’t see anything that’s happening. There was so much jagged metal and glass, I’m certain there are a lot of injuries out there, including life-threatening ones.
Sirens can be heard in the distance, but as they grow closer, doubt begins to raise its ugly head. What if someone’s twenty feet from this office, dying? There’s no way the paramedics will be able to tend to everyone immediately. It’ll take time to find those in dire need of immediate attention, and by that time, they could be dead.
My teeth sink into my lower lip as I become restless. The need to help in any way that I can is strong. What kind of person hides in an office while others are in the next room begging for help? Can I live with myself if I don’t try to do everything I can to save lives? Is it a regret that I can live with?
I can’t turn my back on anyone else.
Holden’s going to be super pissed, but I’ll worry about it later. After tucking the gun into the waistband of my jeans behind my back, I turn both locks and open the door.
The hallway is hazy with smoke, and I’m assaulted by an array of odors. I can smell metal, gasoline…and death. Ordinarily, the scents would throw me into a panic attack, but I can see a man propped against the wall near the kitchen, and I focus on him.
I rush over and drop to my knees beside him. He’s young and covered in splatters of blood. When his eyes focus on me, they look at me with pain-filled panic. “Help,” he says weakly. It’s then that I notice he’s clutching his thigh, and blood is seeping through his fingers and forming a puddle beneath him.
Bile rises in my throat, but I manage to force it down. “Are you wearing a belt?”
He looks at me with confusion and then automatically reaches with both hands for his waist. For the first time, I get a look at his thigh. Something large and sharp had sliced into it, parting muscles and ligaments. A bit of white is showing deep within the gruesome wound, and blood is spurting from a severed artery. I swallow hard and grab one of his hands, quickly pressing it against the wound. “Apply pressure,” I hoarsely instruct.
When he nods, I reach for his waist and find that he’s not even wearing a belt. Damn it. “I’ll go get towels,” I tell him.
His eyes widen with alarm. “Don’t leave me.”
“We need to stop the bleeding. I’ll
be right back,” I promise.
He swallows and reluctantly nods.
I hurriedly rise to my feet and rush into the bar where there should be a stack of clean towels behind the counter. The lights are flickering eerily as people move around, trying to help those that are still lying on the floor—too badly injured to move. A few men are trying to lift a large piece of metal that’s pinning someone to the floor near an overturned table. All I can see is a pair of legs sticking out from beneath it.
Shaking off the horrific sight, I rush behind the counter and squat down, grabbing a handful of towels. I need to hurry or the man with the leg injury is going to bleed out.
The sound of crunching glass behind me causes me to still. Before I can fully turn around, I feel a pinprick in my shoulder.
No…
The world seems to slow when I see my father bending over me. Horror begins to rise, but it’s as if I’m watching someone else instead of experiencing it myself.
He gives me a sinister grin. “I knew you couldn’t resist helping the injured. You and that pathetic bleeding heart of yours.”
Twenty-seven
Holden
About damned time the paramedics begin arriving. I know the explosion happened only minutes earlier, but those few minutes have felt like hours. There are too many bodies in the street, which also happens to be littered with jagged metal and structural pieces. I’d already sliced my hand open as I was trying to uncover a woman trapped by metal—who unfortunately turned out to be dead.
All around me people are shouting. Thankfully, bystanders are coming to help, so I’m no longer racing around trying to do my best to assure the wounded that help is coming.
I look up and spy a handful of paramedics approaching with stretchers. “Over here!” I yell. I’m kneeling by a man who’d lost half his arm in the blast. His face is white, and I can tell that he’s going into shock. I’d immediately yanked off my shirt and had torn a strip from it to make a tourniquet, but the man needs to get to the hospital ASAP.
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