Page 114 of Taking Denver

Someone drops a glass, and I blink. I frown as my gaze lands on a spatter of red across ivory silk. “Denver, your dress.”

Denver’s eyes widen, and her lips part. “Ethan.”

The floor meets my knees. Pressure builds in my chest. Did I spill a drink? There’s so much red.

“Ethan,” Denver cries. “Ethan, Ethan?—”

Her voice becomes an echo, and someone is screaming; everyone is screaming. White curls from the edges of my vision, so bright, too bright?—

“Can’t you feel it, Ethan?”

I look at my brother. The train is getting closer, but I don’t run this time. I stare into the blinding lights until they no longer hurt my eyes.

James takes my hand.

I take a breath. “I can feel it.”

Denver calls my name again, and the world becomes light.

Chapter 39

Denver

“Ethan, wake up.” I hold his face in my blood-soaked hands, my body trembling as blood gathers at my knees. More bullets are fired, and more people scream, but they feel too distant to hurt me. “Please, Ethan?—”

His dark eyes stare past me, and the light I once loved is gone. The two spots of red on his chest expand and become one.

I can’t breathe. I repeat his name, my tears joining the blood. My fingers are numb, and my nose is, too. Goosebumps shower my arms, and Ethan keeps staring past me, unblinking.

Gone.

He’s gone.

“Mr. and Mrs. Luxe!” a man announces from beyond the balcony doors. I lift my head. The shooting has stopped, and quieted sobs echo as people remain on their knees behind overturned tables. Through the blur of tears, I can see a man standing at the entrance to the ballroom, arms stretched wide. More men flank him with automatic weapons. “Come on, don’t be rude, greet your guest! Where’s Deluxe? I bet she looks beautiful.”

“Denver,” Ranger’s voice booms across the room, and I hold back the sob crawling up my throat. It sounds like he’s further back into the room and unhurt. “If you are still in this room, do not let this fucker see you.”

The man laughs. “Where are you hiding, Ranger? Oh, who cares! You’re alive! Good. It’d be boring killing your wife without you watching.”

“Fucking touch her, Harland, and I’ll remove your spine.”

Wilder.

I look down at Ethan and kiss his cheek, his skin still warm against my lips. “I’ll be back, okay? I’ll be back.” For a reason I can’t explain, I close his jacket over his now-red shirt.

I back to the edge of the balcony and crawl toward the door, keeping my eyes on the Harland brother. My dress clings to me, Ethan’s blood spreading across my skin and through the silk.

Ethan is dead.

I close my eyes, and a ringing starts in my ears. The sound is violent, and a headache quickly follows as pressure builds in my head. Heat stings my cheeks, and within the well of my heart, I dig for the strength not to cry. I can grieve Ethan, but not now.

First, I have to make this fucker pay.

“Denver DeLuca!” Wilder calls.

“Don’t move, Denver!” Ranger shouts.

Someone screams, and a woman sobs. Wilder says, “What’s your name?” A quiet, fearful response. “Louder, sweetheart.”

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