Page 55 of Sin of Love
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“Something’s happening.”
Liam nods. “Aye.”
In the hallway leading to the restaurant and the private dining rooms for VIPs—and murderous cartel scum—there’s a sudden flurry of activity. A waiter runs toward the front desk, face caught in a mask of terror, while a hard-eyed man yells into a cell phone farther down the hallway.
We’re in the same lobby chairs, pretending to read the same damn newspapers, because neither of us trusted Margaret to deliver on her end of the deal. Good thing, too, because it’s been over twenty minutes and no Deirdre.
And now… something.
Something bad, from the looks of it.
I tense, ready to launch from my chair. “She’s in danger.”
Liam nods. “Likely so, but we can’t run into that room like bloody cavemen. And sadly, I left my grenades at home.”
More cartel soldiers stream into the hallway. I hear a man yelling for a doctor.
I jerk to my feet. “We can’t wait anymore. We have to do something.”
Liam stands, throwing an arm around my shoulders with a bright, false smile on his face. “Look at me, Gideon. Fucking look at me. There is not one thing we can do right now except wait. I don’t want to die today, do you?”
“I want Deirdre back,” I say through clenched teeth.
That’s when I see her. A sliver of a woman—a shadow of my heart—gliding down the hallway toward us. Her expression is soft, dreamy. She doesn’t notice or care that chaos swirls around her. There’s more yelling, rising in intensity.
“Liam,” I gasp.
He grabs my arm. “Not yet. Let her get farther from the room. We’ll intercept.”
I glance out the lobby doors to make sure our car is still idling at the curb. It is, thanks to a hefty donation to a valet.
Deirdre steps into the lobby and looks around, her movements slow, like she’s underwater or stuck in a nightmare.
Then, a woman’s scream, “Find her! Find Deirdre! Marco—NO!”
“Oh, fuck,” whispers Liam. His eyes meet mine for a brief moment. “Meet at the car.” Then he’s gone, sprinting for the lobby doors.
I’m already running, my muscles so amped with adrenaline I feel nothing, see nothing except Deirdre’s widening eyes. Her mouth drops open. Her shoulders tremble, then she crumples like a paper doll.
I catch her before she hits the ground, barely breaking stride as I swing her over my shoulder—she’s too light—and run, run, run for the car.
Liam waves his arms like a maniac from the driver’s seat, the passenger door open for us. He’s yelling, but I can’t hear him. I can’t hear anything but the rasping breath of the woman in my arms and my own heart like a piston against my ribs.
Something sharp pinches in the vicinity of my shoulder, but I’m there… there… scrambling through the open door just as Liam guns the engine. Tires squeal. Forward momentum slams the passenger door shut behind us.
Deirdre slumps into my lap—so small, too small—her hair tangled in my beard, over my chest. She’s unconscious but breathing, burning up, trembling uncontrollably. She goes rigid, fingers curling.
“Liam! She’s having a seiz—”
“Down!” he hollers.
I fold myself over Deirdre as the back window shatters, raining glass over our seats and heads. Little zips and tings rent the air around us as bullets hit the car.
“Hang on!”
Liam swerves hard to the left and a chorus of honking fades in our wake. In under a minute, the lights of the coast fade and we’re driving down a dark, two-lane road with thick vegetation around us.
