Dying for Rain (The Rain Trilog - BB Easton Page 0,44

a small handgun in his fist.

“Ms. McCartney, you come on over here, hon.” He gestures to the door with the barrel of the gun. “Handsome, you go stand in the corner with ya hands up.”

And just like that, our escape plan is ruined. Wes can’t jump Elliott if he’s got a gun pointed at him at point-blank range.

And we all know it.

“Fuck,” Wes hisses, squeezing me tighter.

“Shh … it’s okay,” I whisper, tilting my head back to look at him. His nostrils flare with every breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

I don’t even know why I said that. Maybe because it’s the closest thing to goodbye I can bring myself to say, or maybe it’s because it’s true. One way or another, I’m gonna see him tomorrow. Either in my arms after I rescue him or in Plaza Park when I lose him forever.

“Tomorrow? Oh my goodness, are you goin’ to the Green Mile event?” Officer Elliott asks enthusiastically. “Ooh! Maybe you could talk to Michelle Ling for me! See if I can introduce the governor this time!”

“Yeah, okay,” I mumble, not taking my eyes off Wes’s beautiful, tortured face. “Tomorrow,” I promise again, pushing up onto my toes to kiss his tightly drawn lips.

“Tomorrow,” Wes growls before his mouth crashes into mine, finally letting every ounce of the panicked desperation he’s been feeling make itself known.

My back arches as I try to absorb the brunt of his brutal kiss, the feral force of his love, the overwhelming power of his will to survive. I feel Wes becoming a caged animal in my arms, and my heart breaks, both for him and for anyone in this building who makes the mistake of coming too close to him.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Officer Elliott taps his gun against the bars. “You got three seconds to get in the corner with your hands up before I shoot, boy. Don’t make me hafta drag yo’ dead ass down the Green Mile tomorrow!”

I break our kiss and wriggle out of Wes’s death grip, walking him backward into the corner of his cell.

“I love you,” I whisper, holding him at arm’s length.

A lock of hair falls over one pale green eye as he stares down at me. Unbridled rage swims in the other. “Tomorrow,” he grinds out through clenched teeth.

I force a smile through my tears and nod. “Tomorrow.”

Tearing myself away from him and tearing my own heart out in the process, I turn and take three steps over to the bars.

Officer Elliott unlocks the door and yanks me out without once taking his eyes off of Wes. As soon as the door slams shut, he turns to me and beams. “So, here’s my vision. Instead of Michelle doing her usual boring-as-hell intro, what if the camera follows me, leading the accused all the way down the Green Mile? Make folks feel like they’re really there!”

As he walks me away, with a grin on his face and a gun pressed between my shoulder blades, I glance over my shoulder.

I used to love nothing more than watching Wes watch me. His rapt attention. His intense gaze. With a single look, he could make me feel seen. Studied. Special.

But watching him watch me go is an entirely different experience. I don’t feel special.

I feel split apart.

Officer Elliott rambles the entire way back to the lobby about all his TV show ideas, but I’m not listening. I’m too busy trying to remember how to breathe. Just before he buzzes us into the lobby, he holsters his gun and starts laughing like we’re old friends.

“Y’all come on back anytime, Ms. McCartney,” he says, giving me a little shove.

Officer Hoyt looks up from the front desk but drops his gaze the moment our eyes meet.

“Thank you, Officer Elliott,” I mumble without turning around. And I’m surprised to realize that I mean it.

I really hope Wes doesn’t kill you.

“Thank you, honey child. And be sure to tell ya boy Flip to get my good side tomorrow!”

“Which side is your good side?” Officer Hoyt asks as I click-clack over to the main entrance, trying to hold my head up and my sobs in.

“Both sides, silly!” Officer Elliott howls with laughter as the door buzzes open.

I walk outside and squint into the daylight.

The world before me looks just as abused and miserable and desperate and filthy as I feel.

But the sun is still shining.

Wes is still alive.

And the Channel 11 news van is still waiting for me out front.

And for that, I’m grateful.

As I drag my