Page 78 of Wrecked for Love
“Oh, yeah, we met. Didn’t you stop by with Hank the other day?” Paul asked, relaxing slightly.
Fritzy answered, “Yeah. Sorry, I just really needed to talk to Miss Claire.”
“No worries,” Paul said, stepping aside to give us space.
“Paul, I might need to head out. Is that okay? I’ll make up the hours tomorrow.” I yanked my jacket from the staff locker and rushed to get it on.
“Don’t worry about it,” Paul replied easily. “I think the rush is over. I’ve got it covered.”
As soon as Paul disappeared, Fritzy motioned for me to follow, moving fast despite the falling snow. I paused just long enough to make sure the stockroom door was latched tight.
“Come on, Miss!” he pushed, hurrying me along.
I barely had time to tug my hood up before I caught up with him. He glanced around. Something felt off.
“Is he hurt? Is Elia hurt?” I pressed.
“Just come with me,” he urged, shifting from foot to foot.
I didn’t have my car with me since Elia had dropped me off this morning. So, it was convenient that Fritzy was able to pick me up.
He opened the passenger door of his truck, his hand trembling as he gestured for me to get in. For a split second, I hesitated, but the thought of Elia in danger pushed me forward.
I climbed into the passenger seat, and before I could even pull the door shut, a sharp blow struck the side of my head. Refusing to back down, I whipped around, ducking the next hit and catching Fritzy’s arm in my grip. But it wasn’t enough. I scrambled for my jacket’s pocket.
Shit! Where the hell was my Ruger?
Before I could figure it out, another strike landed, harder this time. My vision blurred, my body went slack, and everything around me dissolved into darkness.
32
ELIA
I headed out to pick Claire up from Paul’s, feeling completely knackered. Maybe I’d overdone it with the boxing this afternoon, but there was no room for complacency. Whether the note was calling for a meeting, an old-fashioned duel, or something else entirely, I had to be prepared.
Instinct had to take over. Fight-or-flight wouldn’t cut it with the Vosses. This wasn’t some Buffaloberry Rumble sideshow. It was real, and I wasn’t about to step in unprepared. I wasn’t a pro, but every punch and every bruise was sharpening me for what was coming.
As I turned off The Lazy Moose gate toward town, my phone buzzed. Logan.
I put him on speaker. “What’s up, Log?”
“You got a minute?”
I frowned. That wasn’t his usual opener. “Since when do you ask?”
He exhaled. “Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but—” He trailed off.
“Log, just spit it out.”
“Your brother.”
I sat up straighter. “Noah? What happened?”
“Nothing. He called me last night.”
I nearly swerved off the road. “And you’re just telling me this now?”
“I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
