Page 29 of Desperate Actions

Junior exhales, rolling his shoulders, then turns to our guy. “Put ’em in the trunk. We’re heading downtown.”

Downtown—where we have friends with a nifty little waste management facility.

A place with an incinerator.

A place where mistakes disappear.

Permanently.

“Give me your jacket,” Junior says.

I don’t hesitate. I strip it off and toss it to him.

“I should come with you,” I say.

He’s already shaking his head.

“Nah. I got this, bro.” He smirks. “You need to check on your girl.”

Something shifts inside me.

Something I’ve spent too long ignoring.

Because he’s right.

And it’s time I admit it.

Aella is mine.

“What about you?” I ask.

He shrugs, mouth twitching. “Ain’t my time yet. No worries. I’m a patient man.”

I nod once, watching as he climbs into the SUV that pulled up sometime before we even walked into this alley.

Then, without another word, I turn and head back inside.

But this time?

This time, my blood is pumping for a different reason.

I stalk across the floor, past bodies grinding to the bass, past flashing neon and spilled liquor.

And then I see her.

Standing by the bar, wiping at her chest with a napkin, her dress clinging wet and ruined, her lips slightly parted, eyes still wide, shaken, too damn vulnerable for my liking.

And just like that, everything else fades.

The noise.

The heat.

The club.

Because all I see is Aella.

And all I feel is real, gut-wrenching fear.

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