Page 39 of Wine & Whiskey: Everything for You
The hammock on Shae’s deck sways under a sunless sky. Raindrops pound the fabric, bursting upon impact with faint shards of water fanning out before disappearing. Only the weather is different since the day Nick first laid with her there. His love for her, as well as his fear of the repercussions from her being in his life, never wavers.
A low rumble follows a flash of light arcing behind the row of trees and shrubs lining her backyard. One of those storms that come out of nowhere, affecting everything it touches with a humbling brilliance. And just when it seems the intensity will never end, it’s over. Only the beauty from its subtle power remains.
Nick turns away from the window at the gentle squeeze on his shoulder.
“Are you doing okay? Do you need anything?”
Carrie.
No one, not even Max, who knows him better than he probably knows himself, gets it. Only she understands why he’s here instead of his own house. Why he needs to be where Shae was once pure and content, still yet unscathed by him and his fucked up world.
The last visitors murmur their condolences. All of them here by invitation only. Some on Nick’s payroll directly—office employees from his legitimate business, who worked with Carter and grieve his loss. Others, indirect and untraceable, yet just as necessary for his endeavors—the mayor, police chief, city council president—who occasionally need an intimate reminder of what happens to those who are fickle in their loyalty.
Max steps next to him, his expression neutral, yet a subtle nod conveys a problem with their plans. As soon as the door closes behind the final mourner, Max utters the words that make their week of meticulous planning irrelevant. “Shae’s on her way. The guys tried to stop her, but she got past the gate guard when she accused him of trying to keep her prisoner.”
The flicker of pride at her ingenuity quickly extinguishes from the adrenaline pulsing through his body. She can’t be here, can’t risk getting caught up in what he’s executing. He swipes his phone and taps the key for her, but it rings once and goes to voicemail. Damn it. “How long?”
“Two minutes at the most.”
That’s all the time he needs. They move silently down the hall toward the room reserved for private services, where they’ve assembled the men whose lack of allegiance will no longer be a concern. Leo stands guard and dips his head at him. The final car sits outside the door. Juan climbs out and looks around.
The hatred Juan invokes in him is only second to what he feels for his father. Yet, he doesn’t kid himself that he’s any better than his enemy. The same ruthlessness and brutality runs through his veins, although his motivation may be slightly more honorable for the sweet angel who thinks she sees goodness in him.
His fingers curl tighter around his gun. “Come on, motherfucker, walk in. Just fucking walk in.”
Six feet from the back entrance before Juan pauses and turns toward the parking lot, where something captures his complete attention. His eyes grow wide before a shit-eating smirk confirms what he must see. Shae.
Fuck the plan. They’re taking him out right now. Nick nods at Max, who points his gun at the door.
Nick races in the opposite direction and bursts through the front doors of the funeral home. Deafening fury screams through his body and silences the rest of the world. Everything around him fades to black, except her lying on the ground with that motherfucker’s hand on her face.
No thoughts, no doubts, no hesitation. He extends his arm and fires at Juan’s forehead and chest right before the force behind him knocks him to the ground. Ignoring the sting of his clothes singed against his back and the burning of his pulsing lungs, he crawls out of the smoke and rubble.
She’s gone.
“Nick?” Carrie’s voice pulls him back to the present.
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
She nods and walks away. Nothing she can say or do to help him.
Her feet pad down the hall toward the kitchen, her voice low as she talks, probably to Nathan. Frustration tinges her fiancé’s response back to her. Whispered arguing before everything’s quiet. Nathan’s a good man, a caring doctor. But right now, all he can think is—fuck him. Fuck him for being good and moral and right. For probably thinking he deserves to lose her. To lose the only light in his darkness.
Fear. Exactly what Nick wants to see in Spencer’s eyes now that he’s found them. The last emotion this motherfucker will experience before they meet again in hell. The sentiment he’ll never cause to darken her beautiful face again.
Spencer claws at Nick’s hand squeezing his throat, legs flailing as he dangles, pressed against the wall.Three huge punches to his face before he slams the heel of his hand into his nose, driving it into his brain. Small spasms jerk his body, and Nick throws him to the floor.
Nick grabs the corner of the bedspread and wipes the blood off his knuckles before dropping to his knees next to her. A sleeping angel, her hair splays out behind her, her cheeks shiny with moisture. He slides his hands under her shoulders, her limp body cold against the heat blazing through him. “I’m here, sweetness. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Just like his dream when Spencer drugged him. A premonition of him calling to her, screaming her name. But she won’t wake up. Won’t open her eyes no matter how much he begs her to.
Nick lets out a deep breath and lowers himself into the chair near Shae’s bed. All the magazines and books are gone from the nightstand. Now, just a framed photo sits on the smooth, white surface. A candid shot, she glows with excitement after stepping off the red carpet from one last wave to a disappointed crowd. Every face in the photo turns toward her—Carrie, Max, the handlers in their headsets, fans screaming in the bleachers—but she looks at him. Her face lights up with her beautiful smile just for him.
Max races down the long driveway of Juan’s country home. The closest town at least ten minutes away. Nick knows he should be searching for a hospital, some kind of help for her. But he can’t take his eyes off her delicate face pressed against his shoulder. His heart strains against his rib cage at her shallow breathing and weak pulse. He presses his lips against her ear. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you.”
They drive into a quiet downtown area with a few offices and small shops. Max stops in front of a red, brick building with a Family Health Clinic sign hanging from the awning.
The woman at the front desk starts to speak before she looks up. “Sorry, we’re closed. You’ll have to call back and make an…”Her eyes dart from Shae, unconscious in his arms, to Nick and Max, their clothes ripped and blackened from the fire. “I’m calling the police.”
