Page 67 of Taking Denver

“Can you drop me off at Pulse?” I ask quickly.

Cal gives me a thumbs up and heads for the door.

“To be continued,” Ranger whispers in my ear, finally releasing my leg.

I slip my shoe back on before standing and shrugging on my coat. I lean across the table, pick up his drink, and finish the last of the whiskey.

“The table wouldn’t be sturdy enough anyway,” I whisper, placing the glass down.

His grin is a silent agreement. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Why don’t you come with me?”

“There’s such a thing as paying a check.” He stands, towering over me. “I’ll teach you about it someday.”

I toss my hair over my shoulder and give him a seductive smile. “Don’t bother.”

His rumble of a laugh echoes behind me, and I bite back my own smile as I walk away, heading to the back entrance that we’ve used in situations like this before.

I push the door open into the cool air, the limo car waiting in the moonlit alley, and take out my phone.

Sebastian: Thanks. I’m sure Zeke will appreciate being treated like a VIP.

I smile. It’s small thing that I hope will make them smile—a pathetic way to apologize for hurting Ethan.

It does nothing to ease the guilt for how I’m acting with Ranger, though. I feel like I’m cheating, but I’m not sure who I’m being unfaithful to. Wyatt or Ethan?

I open the back door of the car but freeze when I see movement in the blacked-out window.

Whirling, I have no time to scream as the waiter lifts the knife. My breath catches, and I seize his wrist, his strength sending a twinge of pain shooting through my fingers as he forces the knife closer.

“No—” I breathe out the word, my phone clattering into the footwell.

He’s younger than me, eyes flashing with rage, and he utters one word: “Murderer.”

I bring my knee into his groin, and he grunts. I fall into the back seat of the car, scrambling to reach for the gun Ranger keeps in the compartment beneath his seat. I won’t die like this. Not sliced to pieces, bleeding to death in an alleyway behind a restaurant I don’t even like that much.

The attacker seizes my leg and pulls, my knee slipping on the leather seats. He flips me over and yanks me closer to the door, the knife glinting in the yellowed lighting behind the building.

I kick his chest and scream. “Get the fuck off me!” He lets out another grunt of pain but seizes my ankle, and the knife, oh god, the knife?—

My eyes widen, the moment collapsing into seconds, my heartbeat counting down.

And then, he’s gone.

Chapter 24

Denver

Isit up. The waiter’s shout is followed by a sound I first heard when I was eleven years old. I’d wandered downstairs for a glass of water and was drawn to my father’s study by the sound of wet crunching. I had watched in abstract horror as my father stabbed a man repeatedly and blood covered my mother’s favorite rug.

I hear that sound again, but it isn’t horror that strikes me. It’s relief.

Something thuds as it hits the ground, and I scramble further into the car as Ranger climbs in. His shirt isn’t white anymore, and the smell of iron fills the car.

“Are you hurt?” he asks. His hand is on my face, warm and wet. I stare into the vast darkness of his eyes but see no panic, no fear. Just a man in total control. “Denver, are you hurt?” I shake my head.

The driver’s side door opens, and Cal climbs in. “What are we doing with the?—”

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