Sounded like Little Miss had worked into a hell of a snit. He ambled closer, staying out of her line of sight. He had to give Bruce credit. Not once did he lose his cool. Viv, on the other hand, was livid. He’d never heard her this forceful, not even when she’d screamed his name and come around his cock.
He shouldn’t engage. Should just finish out the East bar, get this place locked down and get the heck out. He tapped Bruce on the shoulder and motioned him to move away. “I got this.”
Viv’s rant dried up the second she laid eyes on him.
Damned if his mouth didn’t dry up, too. Her hair was wild and loose, still tangled and well-fucked the way it’d been when he left. Those sexy gray eyes of hers were sharper in color than normal, and her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink. But not a bit of that compared to the rest of her, the jeans he loved and a plain white tank paired with the leather jacket he’d gotten her. “You’re acting pretty bold for a woman who wants nothing to do with a dangerous man.”
She planted her hands on her hips, and Jace nearly swallowed his tongue. His little firecracker was out and about without a bra, the rigid points of those sweet nipples he’d sucked on pressed against the tight fabric and a hint of their dusky color showing through the white. “You misunderstood.”
For a second, one hopeful, disconcerted second, he second-guessed what he’d heard out of her mouth. The memory of how she’d looked at Paul at the charity dinner streaked in behind the hesitation. She’d been relaxed. Poised and interested. Nowhere near the terrified expression she’d nailed him with when he’d crawled back into bed and curled up beside her. “Hard to misunderstand when a woman tells a man she’s afraid of him. I think that pretty much summed your stance up nice and tight.” How he managed such a hard line, he’d never know, but he was going to pat himself on the back with a whole fifth of Macallan when he got to Haven. One thing was for sure. He couldn’t do this. Not here. Not now. Not with his gut stinging like she’d flayed him inside out.
He latched onto her shoulder and guided her through the lingering crowd toward the parking lot. “If you’re here about the job, it’s solid, but I think you’d be best to head home.”
She jerked her shoulder free and snatched his wrist before he could step out of range. “Please. Just listen.”
He aimed a none-too-subtle glare at her grip then lifted a you-really-wanna-try-that-with-me eyebrow.
Dropping the connection, she stuffed her hands in her back pockets and nailed him with another unabashed view of her tits.
Christ, a man could only take so much. He fisted his own hands in his pants pockets and forced his eyes to stay on hers. “Talk.”
She hesitated a second, studying her boots long enough he thought she’d changed her mind. Then she met his eyes head-on. “When I said Paul was safe, I meant he was safe. As in, not the least bit frightening. And before you get your hackles up and start snarling about goody-two-shoes assholes, I mean that as in he doesn’t affect me.”
The crowd hummed and pulsed around him, but everything inside him froze. He wasn’t sure what the hell he’d expected, but it wasn’t that. Hell, not even close.
“I don’t see him as safe because of what he wears,” she said, “what part of town he lives in, or who his family is. I mean he’s safe because he can’t shake everything inside me with a single look. His hand on my arm barely registered, but yours I register everywhere. So, yeah, he’s safe. You?” She huffed out a borderline hysterical laugh and shook her head, her wild curls dancing around her cheeks and shoulders. “You scare the hell out of me because you make me feel. You make me reevaluate everything I’d thought to be true and dare me to throw safe straight out the window.”
You make me feel.
The simple statement orbited his head so fast not much else could get past it. Hell, even if he could move, he wasn’t sure he wanted to for fear he’d shatter the moment.
“Say something.” Her chest heaved like she’d sprinted a mile instead of unloading a one-ton truck of surprise on his gut. Tears pooled in her eyes. “Please.”
There had to be a catch, some pitfall he wasn’t seeing. But damn it, he couldn’t just let her stand there and think what she’d said didn’t matter. He stepped sideways to steer her inside. He’d take her to the office and buy his head some time to catch up.
Viv matched his move, as though to block him from leaving, and gripped his shoulder. “Wait.”
A gunshot rang out.
Viv jerked and fell against him as the crowd scattered, Bruce and the rest of his team jumping into the fray while screams and pounding footsteps rang against the asphalt.
Shielding Viv, Jace wrapped her up and backed her into the shelter of the club, throwing the door shut behind him.
She trembled against him, her forehead on his chest and her own cry broken and filled with pain.
“Vivienne.” He tugged her away from him by both shoulders and her sob turned into a shriek. “Sugar—”
He froze.
Blood bubbled from a puckered hole between her shoulder and her neck, a crimson trail staining the front of her white tank. “Shit.”
Axel shouted from across the lobby. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Gunshot. Let the guys handle it. Need you with me.” He swept Viv up and stormed deeper into the bar, weaving through the blur of patrons rushing the opposite direction. Barked orders from the bouncers up front and feminine shrieks pelted against his ears as harsh as shrapnel, and his heart thrashed in an angry assault.
You make me feel.
Christ, he was an idiot. A hot-headed, knuckle-fucking-dragging idiot.
Axel’s heavy footsteps pounded behind him.
Laying Viv out on the nearest booth, he eased her leather jacket aside with too-unsteady hands and bit back a curse. The wound was high enough it couldn’t have hit anything life threatening, but it bled like a son of a bitch. “They got Viv,” he said to Axel as he hurried closer. “Get me a towel from the bar.”
“You sure ye don’t want the kit?”
“No time. I want her out of here before the cops show.” He smoothed her hair away from her face and leaned in close. A piercing weight pressed against his chest, the same unyielding rage he’d felt the night a man had dared to hurt his mother all those years ago.
Her eyes locked on his, wide and glassy, and her shaky breaths fluttered across his face. “Hurts.”
“Take a deep breath, babe,” he said. “It might hurt like hell, but it’s superficial. Zeke will fix you up and you’ll be fine.”
Nice fucking words. She’d shown up, laid herself bare, and he’d gotten her shot.
Axel handed him a clean, white bar towel and stacked two more beside Viv. “How do you wanna play it?”
His temples throbbed from the strain of his clenched jaw, the need to choke whoever’d dared to hurt her drawing his fists up just as tight. “Get Knox on the security tapes. I don’t want one scrap of her being here on any of ‘em. Lose the whole damned night if you have to. Until I know what the hell this is about, no one but brothers know she was here. And make sure Bruce keeps his shit tight.”
“You think this was aimed at her?”
“Moreno saw her with me at the club. Not a stretch for that fucker to target her to get to me. Until I know for sure, she’s protected.”
“How you plannin’ to do that?”
“I’m taking her to Haven.”
“Come again?”
“You heard me.” Jace braced the towel over the wound and Vivienne whimpered. He lifted her up as carefully as he could.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
“The brothers aren’t gonna like that,” Axel said. “You sure you’re ready to cross that line?”
Jace stalked toward the back entrance. “The line you need to be worried about is what happens when I find the motherfucker who pulled th
at trigger.”
Viv tucked her chin to her chest and held her breath, every one of Jace’s powerful strides resonating from the painful epicenter near her shoulder. The mix of blowtorch burn and pounding throb churned her stomach, but she didn’t dare retch for fear she’d wrench the pain even higher.
Jace punched the steel door at the back of the club open and the sudden motion jarred her shoulder.
Her ragged cry ripped across the deserted alley.
Brushing a kiss against her forehead, he stalked toward his Porsche. “Sorry, sugar. Just hang tight while I get us out of here.” He settled her in the front seat and punched her seat belt in place. Thank God for that, because she wasn’t too sure she’d be able to stay upright without it.
The cool January night air slid across her clammy skin, and a shiver rattled down her spine. The Porsche’s engine growled to life and the car shot forward.
She pried her eyelids open and the world beyond her passenger window did a Tilt-A-Whirl spin. “You said it was a gunshot.”
Jace jammed the gearshift into the next gear so hard she’d have winced if her body wasn’t already shaking. “From the parking lot. Don’t know who, but Axel’s working it.”
“Guns and booze. A bad mix. Trust me, I know.” In the back of her mind, a warning tripped on her warbled statement. Too much information. Shut it down and keep quiet. But why? She’d made up her mind to lay everything on the line with Jace. Not much of a better way to explain the way she was than reality. Her gaze locked onto the blood smeared across his once crisp white shirt, and a fresh wave of nausea bubbled up.
Jace curled his hand around the back of her neck, his fingers smoothing across her hairline in a comforting stroke. “Just breathe through it, sugar. Gonna get you fixed up.”
She let her eyes slide shut and her head loll forward, focused on his touch. Fixed up would be good, preferably with lots and lots of pain meds. “Presbyterian’s on my insurance. Does Zeke work there?”
“Not takin’ you to a hospital.”
Viv jerked her head upright and shrieked at the sudden movement. Surely she hadn’t heard that right.
Jace tucked his phone under one ear before she could get clarification and barked at someone on the other end. “Got a problem. Had a shooter at the club and they hit Viv near her left shoulder. Looks superficial, but she’s bleeding like hell.”
God, she was tired. And cold and hot at the same time. What the hell did he mean he wasn’t taking her to the hospital?
“Not going that route,” he said into the phone. “Meet us at Haven.”
The highway lights sped by so fast they all seemed to run together, almost as fast as her heartbeat.
“God damn it, I said Haven, not the compound. Just be there.” He punched the end button and tossed it to the console. “Need you to hang on for another twenty, Viv. Got plenty to make you feel better at home.”
“Jace, I need a doctor. And medicine, and—”
“Got everything you need at Haven and Zeke’s on his way. Trauma’s his thing and yours isn’t critical. Until I know you’re not a target, I want you somewhere I know I can keep you safe.”
Moreno saw her with me at the club. Not a stretch for that fucker to target her to get to me. Until I know for sure, she’s protected.
The statement he’d made to Axel hadn’t made sense at the time, blistering pain overriding the need for analyzing subtext, but now it rewound loud and clear. Mixed with all the violence they’d had in recent weeks and the concern Axel never bothered to hide, she wasn’t sure how to process it all. “It was just an accident.”
He veered onto the highway and jostled her head to one side.
For once the pain barely registered, the desperate need to close her eyes and surrender sweeping over everything else. Her breath came shallow and quick, her fingers and toes so cold, she’d give anything for an electric blanket.
Jace swept his thumb over one cheek, cold air stinging against the wetness in its wake.
Jesus, she was crying?
“Going to take care of you, Viv. You’ve got to trust me on this.”
She forced her eyes open.
His gaze was locked on the road, his expression defiant and scary, a promise of violence she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy. She should be fighting, demanding he let her out of the car, or take her to a hospital, but the fight just wasn’t in her. Her body had all but taken over and focused on the simple task of not bleeding to death in his nice car.
No, there was more than that. There was trust. Instinct that said to uncoil her cramped and tired fingers from the illusion of control she’d clung to, and surrender. Her eyelids slipped shut and darkness closed in. God help her, she hoped that instinct didn’t get her killed.
Chapter 19
Low, masculine voices nudged Vivienne from an unnatural sleep, the conversation’s intense rumble pricking her sluggish consciousness. Talk about relaxed. Every inch of her from crown to toenails seemed weighted by at least an extra twenty pounds, and her eyelids felt as though they’d been soldered shut. A slow, aching throb pulsed between her neck and shoulder.
The gunshot.
Piece by piece, her memory came back online. The harsh, almost terrifying expression on Jace’s face before she’d blacked out. The fear as the shrieks and pandemonium exploded around her. The sharp, searing tear as the bullet ripped through her flesh.
And still her heart slogged along at tortoise pace.
The voices stopped and heavy, muted footsteps sounded against carpet, coming up on one side of her. Papers rustled and the punctuated scratch of pen on paper followed.
Warm, firm fingers pressed against the inside of her wrist and Viv flinched, her eyelids finally getting on board with the whole awake concept.
Zeke eyeballed his watch. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He held his fingers at her pulse for another ten or so seconds, and plucked the penlight from the neckline of his scrubs. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he held one eyelid open and checked her pupils.
The light pierced straight to the base of her skull and made her stomach lurch.
“Shitty way to wake up, huh?”
“Yeah.” Her voice rasped in a grated whisper and her tongue nearly stuck to the roof of her mouth. She licked her lips but didn’t get much in the way of relief.
Zeke checked the other eye then snatched the folder he’d tossed beside her. “The cotton mouth is normal with morphine. Jace went to grab you some water, but you probably want to ease into it at first.”
Now that the reflection from the penlight had died off a little, the dim environment registered. A big bedroom, with dark woods and a very old-world feel, virile elegance similar to Jace’s room at the compound, but on a much more elaborate scale. This was home. His real home.
Zeke scribbled on the paper on top of the folder, the sharp, powerful strokes that of a man either highly pissed off, or in a very big hurry. With two bold underlines, he tucked the paper in the folder, crossed his arms over the bloodstains halfway down his shirt, and nailed her with a shuttered, watchful stare. “How’s the pain?”
She swallowed as best she could with her dry mouth. “Still there, but I don’t seem to care.”
That, at least, tipped one corner of his mouth, a little of the playful Zeke she’d come to know peeking through. “Opiates are good that way.” As fast as it came, the grin faded. “We’ll back you off to Lortab from here out. By midweek you won’t need more than acetaminophen and ibuprofen.”
“How bad’s my shoulder?”
He leaned over and ghosted his finger over the wide bandage taped into place. “Hit your supraspinatus muscle, just above your shoulder blade. Thirty-two caliber. Your jacket did a lot to help. Three to four inches lower would have been a game changer. With this, you’re just not doing push-ups for about a month.”
Her tank from last
night was gone, replaced with a similar one that had to be Jace’s considering how loose it was. The hem tickled just below her hips, and if her nerve endings weren’t playing a trick on her, the wifebeater was the only thing between her and the sheets.
Zeke ambled to a brown attaché made of soft, worn leather and tucked the folder away.
“Is Jace okay?” The last half of her question snagged on a catch her throat.
Zeke hesitated a second, flipped the messenger-styled flap closed, and faced her. “What’s Jace to you?”
Her thoughts whirled with about as much grace as a rear-wheel drive in an ice storm, the mix of the unexpected question and the intensity on Zeke’s face compelling answers before she found traction. “I’m trying to figure that out.”
“Then I suggest you get clear, because Jace is already there.”
“He told you?”
“He didn’t have to.” He jerked his head, indicating the room around her. “You’re here. That says enough.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Zeke’s head snapped back. “He hasn’t told you?”
Hopped up on painkillers or not, there was no missing it was more of an accusation than a question. “Told me what?”
Jace’s voice shot across the room. “She good?”
Whoa, boy. She’d thought Zeke’s attitude was extreme, but it didn’t come close to the power radiating off of Jace. He prowled barefoot across the room in Levi’s and a black Led Zeppelin shirt. Both looked like they’d been around since the band’s heyday, and were faded and tight in all the right places.
“She’s solid.” Zeke glanced between her and Jace, pensive. “Has lots of questions, though.”
Jace strolled to her opposite side and set two bottles of water on the nightstand. “Those are mine to answer, not yours.”
The starefest between the two made her want to slink down under the covers, or even better, disappear entirely.
Rough & Tumble (The Haven Brotherhood) Page 17