Page 119 of Taking Denver

I dropmy purse on the side table and slip off my muddied heels. The marble floor is pristine, and the last thing I need is Martha scolding me for dirtying it.

Low conversation floats from Ranger’s office, and I head toward it on my stockinged feet. Cal is seated before Ranger’s desk, looking as tired as I feel, and Wesson is curled up in his bed in the corner, snoozing quietly. Behind the desk sits Ranger.

We’d both been arrested that day. Despite the death count clearly being higher on our side, the police used it as an opportunity to drag both Luxes into questioning. I had sat in my bloodstained wedding dress for four hours before Dennis stormed into the room and threatened to tear the detective to pieces (legally) if I wasn’t released immediately.

When I stepped out of that interrogation room, Ranger was waiting in the hallway. He’d glanced over me, and I saw such potent rage in his eyes that it warmed me. When he took my hand and led me to the car, I curled up in his lap in the backseat.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t speak. He just held me and made a promise.

“We’ll kill them all.”

I believe him.

Leaning against the doorframe, I feel Ranger’s gaze on me as I focus on my nails.

“How did it go?” he asks.

I shrug. “Rain. Grave. Tears. The usual.” He says nothing in response. I shift my attention to Cal. “Did you find anything in Nevada?”

Cal is looking for Wilder or his men. Anyone connected to that day, anyone we can punish. Ranger got word that Wilder had been spotted in Vegas.

Ranger says, “Cal, you can get some sleep. I’ll speak to Denver.”

Anxiety curls in my gut as Cal stands, and he squeezes my hand as he passes. I don’t return the sentiment like I usually would. Both he and Ranger lied to me the night Wyatt died, and though I tell myself I’ve forgiven them both, things aren’t the same. I wonder if they will ever be the same. Cal closes the door softly behind him.

Ranger holds out his hand, and I go to him, sitting on his lap. He wraps his arms around me, pressing a kiss to my hair. “How did it go today? And don’t lie this time.”

I take in a shaky breath. I rehearsed what to say the entire drive home, wondering if I should lie to protect my pride or avoid this conversation. If no one else knows what Sebastian said, maybe I can pretend he’d never said anything at all.

“He blames me,” I whisper.

Ranger circles his thumb across my hip. “He’s wrong.”

“Is he?”

“Did you shoot Ethan?”

“No, but?—”

“Denver.” Ranger’s voice is firm but not cruel. He touches my jaw and tilts my head up to meet his eye. “People die. You cannotcontrol or take on the actions of others. Otherwise, you’ll die, too. You’ll obsess over every moment, every word, every breath you took that night, and you’ll make a mistake, and the next bullet will be in your chest.” He cups the back of my head, his gaze hardening into a desperate kind of love. “Be sharp, Denver, because I cannot live without you. I refuse to.”

I swallow a sob and nod. He kisses my cheeks, my nose, my chin, and finally, my lips. It’s fleeting but powerful, and he presses his forehead to mine.

“We found one of them.”

Something lurches through me. Adrenaline. Fear. Power.

Ranger holds my hand as he leads me through the house. The floor is cold, but Ranger’s palm is warm.

We walk down the narrow stairs to the basement. The lights hum, and one flickers, and I make a mental reminder to get it fixed. Ranger stops in front of a desk and faces the center of the room. The space where Wyatt died.

A man is tied to a chair, tape around his mouth, wrists, and ankles. A few of his fingers are missing, some nails, too, and he smells like gasoline. Blood pours from his nose, joining the sweat that glistens across his skin. His green eyes are wide and bloodshot, and he tracks me as I take my place by Ranger’s side.

A gun lies on the desk.

“Does he know anything?” I ask. Ranger shakes his head. “Is he important to them?”

Ranger leans against the desk. “Neither Harland has come to collect him, so I’d say no.”

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