Page 68 of Taking Denver

“Fucking leave him there,” Ranger says, tossing the blood-soaked knife into the footwell. “Drive to Pulse.”

I blink myself back into life, the dull throbbing in my chest increasing the more I stare at Ranger’s shirt. “Shouldn’t we go home?”

“No, we’re going to be seen on CCTV like that didn’t happen.” He rolls his neck. “Then I’m going to visit the Ledgers.”

Wyatt’s family. Wyatt’s mother.

My stomach flips. “Ranger, you can’t.”

His gaze burns into me. “That’s the second time they’ve tried to kill you, Denver. And they’re only failing because they’re hiring fucking amateurs.”

Amateurs because Isabelle Ledger doesn’t know our world. Wyatt’s mom wanted no part of it and blamed me for dragging his son into a life of crime, even though he’d been deep into it long before we met. Isabelle hated me, and that dislike will only have deepened since Wyatt’s death.

“What are you going to do? Kill an old woman?” I ask.

“It’s you or her.”

My eyes widen. “Ranger, you cannot be serious. Threaten her, scare her… fucking pay her if you have to, but you cannot kill Wyatt’s mother!”

He runs a hand down his face, blood coating his knuckles.

“When will you get your fucking head around this?” His tone becomes wrath and frustration, his jaw ticking as he glares at me. “You are my fucking priority. Keeping you alive is my fucking priority.”

“And what about my sanity?” I cry. “Do you think I’d be able to live with myself knowing you’d hurt her? She’s grieving, Ranger, she blames me, and you can’t?—”

“Ican’t?” He fires the words at me. “There’s nothing Icannotdo, Denver, especially when it comes to protecting you.”

I stare at him, my breath coming in quick and panicked. I have to calm myself, calm him. Ranger was right when he said I manipulated him for years—there were limits to thatmanipulation, but I honed it. Now I have to work him the right way, not demand things from him.

I swallow and take his blood smeared hand. “Ranger, please. Don’t add more people to my conscience.” He searches my gaze, his stony expression giving nothing away. “Talk to her. Be Ranger Luxe. But please, don’t… don’t kill her. Don’t hurt her. She’ll run out of fire, out of money, and Isabelle will let this go. I know she will.”

It’s a lie. What mother would let her son’s murder slide? But I can deal with that in my own way later.

The car pulls to a stop outside the back entrance to Pulse, and Ranger gets out before answering. I follow, hoping it’s a silent agreement. Harley is waiting by the rear entrance, and she eyes Ranger’s shirt but says nothing as he stalks past her and into the building.

“Bad night?” Harley mumbles.

I sigh. “Don’t ask.”

We walk through the darkened hallway, the volume of the music increasing with each step. Members of staff avert their eyes as we pass, and I wonder if they notice Ranger’s shirt—not that it would matter. No one would be stupid enough to tell a soul worth telling.

“Your friends are in VIP,” Harley says quietly, and I whisper a thank you before she returns to the club.

I climb the metal stairs to the office and let myself in after Ranger.

My legs lock, and I watch as he unbuttons his shirt, throwing the bloodied one onto the couch before retrieving another from a closet.

He pauses, and he sees it. The panic curling around me like smoke.

Another attempt on my life, this one just as close as the last. What if the next one is successful? What if Isabelle finally hires someone good enough to take my life?

“You’re alive,” Ranger’s voice is like a brisk breeze against heavy fog. It banishes the panicked mist, and I force myself to breathe. “Say it.”

“I-I’m alive.”

I’m alive.

I force myself to walk to the windows and look across the gyrating crowd. My heartrate slows, but the churning in my stomach will stick around for hours, no doubt. I focus instead on my surroundings.

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