“You’re not too much, Bree, don't you get that? Your sister and I love you, and we can only help if you tell us when you’re having a hard time. After today, Liv is going to go crazy, and you’re going to have to tell her everything. I meaneverything, Bree.”
“I will! I will, and I’m sorry you’re in this mess.”
His arms wrap around me as tears leak from my eyes. “Don’t apologize again, Bree. None of this is your fault.”
We stay like that for a few minutes until he breaks the eerie silence. “So, angel, huh?”
I laugh into his chest. “Don’t even start with me right now.”
“Oh, come on. Ihadto bring it up. EvenIgot all hot and bothered when it rolled off his tongue like that. Liv’s been writing a bodyguard romance, and I swear, you two are ripped right from the pages of her Word document.”
“She’s writingwhat?” Tristan’s eyes bug out of his head because he knows he wasn't supposed to tell me that.
Two long knocks on the door followed by two short ones make me breathe a little easier.He’s okay.I open the door to the bathroom, and when I see blood dripping down his face, I panic.
“What the hell happened?”
“I knocked out the shooter until the cops could get here. He managed to get a punch in. It’s not Ralph.” He lookspissed, and I can't tell if it’s because the guy managed to get a hit on him or just in general.
“What do you mean it wasn't Ralph? Whowas it?”
“I don't know. Some gun for hire, I’d assume.” Fuck, his entire body is so tense.
“Are you okay?”
“Let’s get out of here. Chris has the car ready in the alley.” Vince continues to look at me while he addresses Tristan. “You too, West. Let’s go.”
As the three of us walk out of the restaurant, my body is still shaking; any of us could’ve been shot while trying to enjoy something as simple as eating lunch together.
Will this ever end?
Chaptereighteen
— ONLY ANGEL BY HARRY STYLES
“He’s a fucking coward!”I say as I punch Nico’s gloves.God, this feels good.
“I know, but damn, take it easy,” he says as I get a few final hits in before we call this round.
Take it easy, he says.“Easy for you to say. You weren't the one being shot at a few days ago.” I rip my gloves off and toss them aside, the workout not doing anything to calm the fire burning through my veins.
“You did your job, Vince. You did it well, and you even held the guy who was shooting at you. Stop beating yourself up over it.”
I know he’s right, but I’m not giving him the chance to rub it in. I swipe my water bottle from where it rests on the floor and take a few sips from it. My face scrunches a bit because of how hard that motherfucker punched me, but I shove the pain down; it could've ended much worse.
Bree could've been shot. She could've been killed.Killed. I keep replaying that day in my head, and I’m glad it ended how it did, but that doesn't stop me from thinking how else it could have ended.
I almost lost her. I almost lost Bree. I almost lost my first client.
“Have you talked to the cops? Have they updated you on anything?”
Shit. I forgot that’s why I originally called him over here. “The shooter was found dead in his cell this morning. His tongue was cutout.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. Somebody wanted to make sure he couldn't talk. I’m assuming it was whoever hired him.”
Nico drags his tattooed hand down his face. “This is a shitshow.”