Page 29 of Wrecked

Crow blinked. “All right,” he said slowly.

“I want your word,” Rebel whispered.

“You have it. So, what do you need my help with?” Crow finally asked.

“Saving an Angel.”

Rebel dipped his face into the high collar of the black down jacket and inhaled.

The scent smelled like Crow—woodsy, spicy, and fresh.

Enclosed in Crow’s SUV, wearing the man’s jacket, Rebel felt surreal.

“Where are we going?”

“I rented a room in a hotel not far from Lincoln’s place.”

“Oh.”

“Do you stay at Lincoln’s?”

“Sometimes, not all of the time,” he said.

“So, if you’re gone for a night or two, he won’t come looking for you?”

“No. And he would never come looking for me. He has people who do that.”

“Does he ever come out of there?”

“Once or twice a week. Either to meetings or to the club.”

“So that’s when we’ll kill him,” Crow said, pulling into the valet of a massive hotel.

Rebel gaped, he couldn’t help it. He’d never stayed in a hotel this expensive in his life.

“You have a room here?” He gulped.

“Yeah, come on.” Crow handed the keys to the valet and walked through the lobby.

Rebel tripped over himself to keep up and stepped inside the elevator doors when they opened. It took them up to the eighteenth floor.

Crow flipped a key card at the door and ushered him inside.

The room had a king-sized bed, a sitting area with a fold-out couch, a small kitchen, and a massive bathroom including a Jacuzzi.

The wall of windows drew him over and Rebel gazed out at the city’s lit-up skyline. After a moment, he turned away from the view of Los Angeles and back to Crow.

Damn, Rebel couldn’t even imagine sleeping in a place like this and he’d bet it cost a shit ton of money each night. The nicest thing he’d ever slept in was a local motel once when Tanis had given him to a visiting CEO. It hadn’t been a good night.

“Rebel?”

He shook himself and gazed at Crow. The man’s blond hair was loose and it barely touched his shoulders when the man cocked his head like he was doing now. Those blue eyes were on him and, for some reason, Rebel’s words dried up, but he managed to croak one out.

“Yeah?”

“What’s the name of the club Lincoln goes to?”

“Station Sixteen Forty,” Rebel answered, confused. “Why?”

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