Page 10 of Taking Denver

She whirls just as the patio doors explode.

Bullets tear through the glass, and shards spit across the room, coating the furniture and floor. I flinch, throwing my arm out to grab Denver and pulling her to the other side of the couch. We fall to the tiled floor, my arms secured around her shoulders.

Fear rocks through me as bullets demolish the remaining glass and thud into the walls. Plaster dust spits across the room, heavy clouds of white hanging around us as I cup the back of Denver’s head and hold her to my chest.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I hear my voice say, but it doesn’t sound like mine. It feels like a lie, it feels like the last words I’ll ever speak, but I keep saying them.

I’m not sure how long it lasts. It feels like minutes, but surely it could only have been seconds.

Silence falls.

Denver pants, her breath warm against my bare chest, and she lifts her head. Her eyes widen, and dust has settled in her hair.

I rest my hand on her cheek. “Are you okay?” She nods quietly, lifting away, but I cling to her. “What are you doing? What if?—”

“They’re gone,” she says. “They just shot up a bunch of rooms. They clearly don’t care about being subtle, so we would have heard them coming if they wanted to finish the job. Wesson, baby?”

A low whine of fear sounds, and Denver and I look at the bedroom. Wesson is hunkered low, ears down, seemingly unhurt.

I swallow, my head dropping back. My throat is dry, my heart still thundering in my ears. “How are you so calm?”

Denver lifts herself out of my arms, half-stumbling as she stands. She lifts a lock of her dust-filled hair, sighs, and says, “Experience.”

Chapter 4

Denver

The bullet-battered door closes behind Ethan. I convinced him to check on his friends, but he seemed reluctant to leave. It was sweet that he thought he could do anything to help, and I appreciated the small but awkward squeeze of my shoulder as he’d promised to come back.

He won’t, and that’s fine.

I put my hands on my knees and breathe deeply. It isn’t fear that circles my gut but a dreadful realization.

They’ve found me.

I knew there would be retaliation at some point, but after three months of receiving nothing but a few threatening calls, I’d lulled myself into a false sense of security. Now, the illusion has shattered like the damn patio doors.

I round the couch, glass shifting beneath my sneakers as I crouch and search for my dropped phone. It’s already ringing.

Shaking glass from it, I answer. “I’m alive.”

Cal exhales. “Fucking Christ. You’re all right?” I grunt my response, gazing out the patio doors. “And the guy in your room?”

There’s no malice beneath the question, but the power behind it glows like unearthed embers. “You’re watching me?”Standing, I walk to the destroyed door. I turn quickly when I hear glass shifting. “Wesson, baby, stay in the bedroom.”

The dog sniffs some of the discarded glass but obeys.

“Of course. Did you think he wouldn’t be close?” Cal asks. “You left without a word.”

But I had said a word. Two, to be exact.

“Where is he, Cal?”

“On his way to the airport.”

My chest lurches violently. “You have to stop him.”

“How am I supposed to do that, exactly?” he asks, and I grip my dress so tightly my fingers ache. “If they’ve tried to kill you, Denver, he’ll want to protect you. Are you really going to deny him that?”

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