Page 77 of Whiskey Throttle
Her eyebrows pull together. Her hand slips into mine, and I practically yank her to her feet. She’s confused but compliant. Moving with ease and grace, my hand tightens around her, hauling her naked out of the conservatory with me.
I probably should have insisted she grab the blanket. A gentleman would do that, but I’m not him now.
“Will you tell me what happened?”
Her voice is soft. Featherlight. Lost in the roar inside my skull. She’s tucked mostly behind me, hiding herself should any staff appear, which they won’t. The cold air feels good against my hot skin, not coated in sweat, when thinking it’s really fucking bad.
“My friend has been in a motorcycle accident.”
The words taste like ash, scraping against my throat. They don’t feel real. I glance back. Her lips part in quiet horror, but there’s nothing she can do. Nothing I can do except call his brother and hope I’m not too late. Whatever concerns I had before with her are nothing compared to the ones I’m starting to have now.
“Is it Dominic?”
Terror edges her words. I stop short, turning to address her fears.
“No, and I’d tell you if it was.” Her face relaxes a fraction. “It’s Emilio, another friend in our group. Dom knows him.”
She nibbles on her lower lip and sends a squeeze of reassurance through our joined hands. She doesn’t ask anything else. Just follows, barefoot and silent, as we rush back to my room. I slam the door behind us. The sound is far too loud for this situation. I stride straight for the closet and let go of her hand.
Her overnight bag is already by the dresser. Mine’s on the bench. She hurries behind me, pulling on a fresh dress, no bra, no panties. Slips back into the armor she wears whenever in Boston. Before reality crushed our getaway fantasy, I tug on jeans and a shirt, calling for us to be wheels up in thirty minutes. I text Sterling to bring the car around.
Already have, sir.
His anticipation of the urgency is typical of him. Flawless in his execution of everything. I shove a handful of clothes into my duffel. My phone vibrates again.
come now
its bad
My heart thunders in my ears as I swipe up to call Massimo. My breath burns my lungs. More tears drip down my face. I don’t bother to wipe them this time. It goes straight to voicemail.
“He’s not answering.” I look over at Babs, slipping into her heels. “He texted me that it’s bad.”
Her lips fall into a line. A harsh look, I hate it. She comes to me, her hand reaching for my chest, trying to embrace me, but we don’t have time for that. We need to go. She doesn’t take offense at my rebuff as I turn away and try to call again.
Voicemail.
“Shit.”
“He might be in a place where he can’t talk,” she offers, a lift in her voice as she zips her bag. “Can maybe only text.”
“Yeah.”
I hit redial, and it goes straight to voicemail.
“I’m coming, Massi, I’ll be there in an hour.”
I doubt we can make it there in an hour, but I’ll push everyone I pay to make it happen. I take a few seconds to get my shoes on before trying Diego. No answer. Then Dom. Straight to voicemail.
“Fuck.”
I try all three again, faster and more frantic, as if I can force them to pick up if I spam their phones. No one picks up. Babs is in the bedroom now, bag in hand, watching me.
“That’s not normal, is it?”
A bunch of college biker guys not glued to their phones?
“No. Not even close.”
