Page 126 of Choices

The mood shifts when one of Rogue’s eighties’ rock songs comes on over the jukebox, gaining boos from the line dancers. Ordering a beer from the other end of the bar, she flits her eyes to a clock on the wall behind the cash register. Our killer is ten minutes late. A tall beanpole tries to pay for Rogue’s drink, grinning at her with a toothless smile, but she declines, moving to an empty table in the middle of the room between Monster and me.

No one new has come in since I arrived, and the more time that passes, the angstier I get. This doesn’t feel right. The bartender comes back over to me, trying to strike up a conversation, but everything is white noise, and I can’t concentrate on anything but Rogue. Plenty of men have approached her, but none have stuck around after she sent them on their way, and none have been alone. They’re all in groups oftwo or more. Yanking my phone from my pocket, I punch out a message to Monster.

Me: Something doesn’t feel right. He’s a half hour late. Where is he?

Fuck this. Slipping from the stool, I march to where Rogue is dancing next to her table and grab her upper arm. “We’re done.”

“Cutter,” she whispers through gritted teeth, trying to pull her arm free.

“He’s not coming,” I growl.

“People get stuck in traffic or break down,” she defends, looking around to see if anyone is watching our exchange.

“If he was coming, he would have been here long before us staking the Trevor guy out. He’s not here, Rogue.”

“Do you think he knows it’s a setup?” She places a hand on her chest, her eyes darting in all directions.

“Is he hassling you, darlin?” Some prick from around the pool table calls out to Rogue.

“Fuck off.” I bark at him and flash the blade sheaved at my hip before he takes a step in our direction.

Holding his hands in surrender, he shakes his head and returns to racking the balls.

“Something feels off, Rogue.” I release her.

“He knows.” She whispers, once again surveying the surroundings.

“How could he?” I follow her eyes but see no one alone or paying us attention.

“He’s smart, Cutter. Why do you think he hasn’t been caught?” There’s panic in her voice. “The bastard knows.”

Ringing screams in my head, my heart skipping a beat, bile burning a fiery path up my throat. “The motel,” she hisses. “Trevor was traveling to meet him.”

“He’s watching the motel,” I blurt out, the room spinning around me.

“Kitty.” We both choke in unison.

Turning on my heel, I bolt through the bar. Crashing through the entrance door, I spill out into the mud, almost losing my footing. Racing to the SUV, I climb in and punch the gas until my foot hits the floor and mud churns under the spinning wheels for a couple of beats before I’m peeling out of there.

Everything is going to be fine. She’s going to kick my ass and not talk to me for an hour or two, but she’ll understand, and we’ll go home and forget this stupid fucking idiotic mission to catch a serial killer.

My phone buzzes against my thigh, but all I can focus on is the road back to Kitty. Nervous energy crackles over my skin, polluting my bloodstream. The dark night sky baring down on me as I weave around the corners and pray nothing is coming in the opposite direction.

The roads are empty and I eat up asphalt as a thousand scenarios play out in my mind. I can’t fucking lose Kitty. Not after everything. I fucking refuse.

Ramming over the bushes, I almost plow straight through the motel reception. Shoving the SUV door open, I spill out, leaving the engine running, and smash through the door with my shoulder, splintering the jamb.

My heart roars in my ears as light blinds my eyes.

A squeal comes from Kitty’s muted mouth, and I drop to my knees, tears of relief scalding my eyes. Yanking the cloth from her mouth, she screams a million different cusses at me, and I take every one as I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. “You motherfucker. What the hell is going on?” she demands. A laugh catches in my throat. I’m losing my fucking mind with their serial killer bullshit. They made me a paranoid maniac.

“You better start saying words.” She demands.

I kiss her stomach. “I love you, Kit.” Damn, I just lost ten years of my life on the drive. My heart is still racing.

My phone continues to buzz, and I shake my head, tugging it out of my pocket, the adrenaline wearing off. Monster’s name flashes across the screen. “It’s okay. Kitty’s fine,” I answer, blowing out a relieved breath.

“Is Rogue with you?” he asks, his voice raised.

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