Page 43 of Wine & Whiskey
“I’m sorry, but you look like you feel awful. Why don’t you go home? You need to take care of yourself.” She pats his arm, the trembling visible through his coat. He must have fever. “I really don’t mind driving myself.”
“Please, Shae. Just get in the car.”
A whisper of fear flitters in her stomach at the hardness of his tone. She turns back to him, his weak smile softening the insistence of his request, his eyes locking with hers pleading for her to agree. “Okay, Jacks. I’ll let you drive me.”
Stepping into the limo, she scans his pale face. Instead of sick, he seems almost afraid. After he pushes the door shut, the locks immediately click.
“Good evening, Miss Armstrong.”
The whisper turns into a roar. Juan Rosalez sits across from her, a smirk curling on his lips. Her view out the side window is even worse as Jacks drops to his knees, his hand covered in blood.
Her fingers press against the glass, the cold surface unable to cool the fear blazing through her body. Jacks remains motionless, a crimson puddle staining the pavement around him, as the limo drives away. She swallows hard before turning back to the man who sits across from her, yet her voice still wobbles. “What did you do to him?”
Juan shakes his head andtsksin disapproval, as if Jacks himself is to blame for the injuries inflicted upon him. “He wasn’t very agreeable to arranging this meeting for me. I gave him a little demonstration of what would happen to you if he didn’t cooperate.” A smirk curls on his lips, taking satisfaction in his cruel cleverness. “Funny thing—after our discussion, he changed his mind rather quickly.”
His unconcerned demeanor is a disturbing contrast to the brutality he imposes, no different than if he was chatting about the weather or what to eat for dinner. Fear as heavy as an elephant weighs on her chest, making it almost impossible to catch her breath. “We can’t leave him like that. Please let me call an ambulance for him.”
“He’s a tough guy. He’ll be fine.”
Ignoring the irritation tingeing his voice, she digs in her clutch for her phone. Protecting her leaves Jacks injured and abandoned. She must help him, even if Juan refuses. Just as her fingers brush the case, he yanks the purse out of her shaking hands, slamming it down on the seat next to him. “You’re as stubborn as your boyfriend, aren’t you?”
Nick.
The roaring in her head dampens every other sound in the car except her gasp of breath trying to recover the oxygen evaporating from her lungs. In the midst of the turmoil, her racing mind stills, all of her hesitation and doubt about him and his life fade away in fear for his safety. A single thought fills her consciousness, her only certainty about him confirmed.
She loves him. Being incapable of telling him doesn’t make it any less true. She loves Nick, and he has to be okay. “Where is he? Did you hurt him too?”
“No.” His eyebrows lift as he tilts his head. “But I will, if you won’t help me.”
Her hands relax from clutching her dress. She can get through this knowing he’s safe, do anything she has to do, say whatever needs to be said, to get away from Juan and back to Nick.
His expression hardens, a snarl darkening his face. “His little business trip this week destroyed a lot of my hard work. Now, I’ve put a new plan in place, and that’s where you come in. I need you to convince him to work with me.”
A few weeks ago, her life was already surreal, singing on stage in front of twenty thousand cheering fans. Now, she negotiates with a mad man for Nick’s life, her only bargaining chip an alliance he refuses to create. She can’t think about that now. Playing along saves both of them. Using all of her acting skills, she nods and wills her voice to sound confident. “Okay, I’ll talk to him.”
Juan shakes his head. “Now, Miss Armstrong, I appreciate your eagerness to agree. However, you’ll forgive me if I doubt your sincerity. You don’t seem to fully realize the commitment you’re making.” He points to her, the smirk back in position. “If you fail, you’ll be the one to pay the price. Are you willing to make that sacrifice? Trade your life for his?”
He leans back, draping his arm across the seat back, tapping his fingers against the smooth leather. The buzzing of her cell interrupts their conversation. Winking at her, he lifts the clasp of her bag and pulls out the phone. He rubs his knuckle across the screen and smiles at her. “Isn’t that sweet? Nick’s looking for you.”
Her brave façade cracks at hearing his name again, uncertain if he knows she’s trapped with his enemy, unaware how much she needs him to find her.
The passenger in the front seat looks back at Juan. “We’re almost there, boss.”
He talks to his gunman, but locks eyes with her. She presses back against the seat, trying to escape from his gaze burning into her, pinning her with his threats. “He’ll be waiting outside the hotel for his lovely friend. You’ll only get one shot, so don’t fuck it up.”
The man nods and reaches toward the floor. A shudder rocks her body at the rifle he raises up, his fingers mesmerizing her as they adjust the mechanisms to take aim. For a perfect shot at Nick. She licks her lips, trying to force her mouth to work. “I’ll do it. I promise. I’ll make him agree.”
He ignores her pledge, his smile growing bigger. “Might as well hit big Max too. Wipe that fucking smug ass expression off his face. Then, we’ll find Carter and maybe even that senile old housekeeper of his. What’s her name again?” He taps his fingertip against his temple, feigning uncertainty. “Marta, is it?”
Sparks burst in front of her eyes, distorting her vision. The man she loves and the people closest to him are all in danger. She takes a deep breath, fighting to keep from being pulled under. Beads of sweat roll down her back. She has to make this stop. “Juan, please—”
Her phone continues to chirp, Nick insistent on reaching her. All of her hopes of him rescuing her brushed aside, replaced by desperation for him to be anywhere but the gala.
“It would be much easier to join forces, but that’s only possible with your help. I can either kill him, or you can persuade him a partnership would be in his best interest.” He spreads his hands out in front of him. “It’s up to you.”
The driver slows and the gunman lowers his window a few inches before lifting the gun into place. His finger pulses on the trigger, waiting for the opportune moment to take his shot.
She holds back the scream welling in her chest. “Don’t! I swear I’ll do it!”
