Page 128 of Scarlet Angel

“Must be. Once upon a time, he refused to let a groom show up at his wedding without a best man, all because of luck,” the American says.

“Yeah, come to think of it, I better toss some salt because that one didn’t work out so well for me,” Nick says.

My head spinning, I close my eyes and lean my head back against the headrest. It’s definitely Leo.

Nick's hand covers mine, the one holding the mobile. I jerk away and tighten my grip on the handgun. My jaw locks as bile rises in my throat. All the sorrow for Willow and Leo—weeks of grief—they weren't just wasted. They were a lie. The metal of the gun grows slick against my palm as my fingers clench. I've never wanted to shoot someone I once loved quite this badly.

CHAPTER33

NICK

I reach for Scarlet’s hand, and she yanks it back, out of reach. She’s figured it out. Either she recognizes Leo’s voice on the line or she’s pieced it together from the conversation. Either way, she’s pissed.

I can’t worry about it right now. We’re entering the CCTV zone. Hackers across the world are probably watching like it’s live TV.

Two hundred and fifty million euros. The blokes after me don’t care why they want me dead. I could be the pope and I’d still have a swarm of fortune hunters after me for a payday that size.

I should’ve never brought Scarlet with me. But what was my option? To leave her behind in the tunnel and hope they didn’t find her? Hope she didn’t asphyxiate from the smoke?

My jaw clenches as guilt lashes at my back, striking through to my innards in a way mortal weapons can’t. I should’ve set her up off the grid. Let her live where no one would ever find her, where she could start anew.

“Falcon. Heads-up.”

Headlights blink behind us.

“Vehicle coming in hot.”

“Christ.” I scan the rearview. “Did they get us on CCTV?”

“Unsure. Slow down so the detail behind you can intercept.”

The voice on the line isn’t Tristan, and it’s not Leo. It’s a reminder I’m working with strangers.

“Kairi. Get the team to see what’s out there. We need to know the exposure.”

“On it,” a feminine voice says back.

How many people are on this call?

The vehicle zips past us. Shots blast.

It’s a pistol. Or a rifle.

I slow, watching as an oncoming car crashes into a parked car. Sparks fly through the darkness, lighting up my rearview.

“Head down.” I reach for her on instinct, grasping the back of her head and pushing down.

Shots rip through the air, but from what I can tell, none hit the vehicle.

“Two miles out,” a male voice says.

“Friendlies approaching. Going to follow you in. Got that, Falcon?”

“Aye, aye.”

A distant high-pitched sound wails.

“Ah, Christ. Have we got the bobbies on us?”

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