The Note (Manhattan Nights #5) - Natalie Wrye Page 0,86

of Sophia. Scouring. Skimming over every inch I can find.

Until I see it.

I can barely hear the influx of the Bimmer’s other passengers, as I pull on the locked door, jarring the glass to within an inch of its breaking point.

Nancy calls out—some sharp comment about her having a key, but I can barely hear her.

The lock at the door turns and twists, groans underneath my rough touch, and with an unsteady growl, I heave the damn thing open, breaking the doorframe into pieces just a second before I burst inside, my footsteps echoing loudly over the hallowed, hardwood floors.

The blond creep barely registers what’s happening before I’m hoisting him high off the stool on which he perches, his collar wrapped in my hands within seconds.

Using my height to my full advantage, I lift him towards my face, snarling the words with such force that it feels as if the floor shakes.

“You piece of shit. Who the hell do you think you are? Did you think we wouldn’t find out? I will kill you where you stand.”

And then I smell him.

Or rather, I smell her.

Sophia’s lilac scent. Sweet and sultry.

It’s all over him.

An anger I didn’t know existed rages under my skin, heating me from the inside out, and I grip the greasy asshole so tightly I fear my fingers will break.

My voice is unrecognizable when I speak. “Where the hell is she?” When he glances behind the bar, his gaze shifting away from me, I ball one fist in the air, ready to swing it at the fucker’s head when I feel something around my arm.

A light touch, familiar and warm that makes me hesitate.

I glance down to find Sophia’s hand at my bicep, pulling, her hazel eyes filled with emotion.

“Noah…” My name on her lips is strained, tinged with relief and undertones of fear all at once, and I drop the blond bastard in front of me so suddenly that he falls, crumbling to his knees.

I rotate towards the woman I’ve been looking for all day, feeling like I’ve recovered my heart in human form, feeling like I’ve found it…

My world.

“Fuck, Sophia.” I reach for her face, one hand drifting towards her jaw which I stroke. “What—where have you been? I’ve been fucking out of my mind for the last few hours.” I heave a heavy sigh. “Did he—?” I glance back to find Richard Slauson on the ground. “Did he hurt—?”

“No.” She shakes her head before I can finish, multi-colored strands of her cinnamon and brown sugar-hued hair flying back and forth. “But you might want to check on him.”

She waves a dark object in her hand, and after glancing down, I realize why Richard Slauson might have been frozen on a stool when I broke down the door.

My little thief.

The little criminal that she is.

Richard Slauson wasn’t the one holding her hostage after all.

She was holding him.

I can’t help but smile. “Alright, Little Bear, hand it over.” I reach for the pistol wrapped in her fingers. “Haven’t you ever heard that ‘Violence is not the answer’?”

She cocks a sharp eyebrow. “Is that another Stephen King quote?”

“No.” I shake my head. “But I have a few Noah Quinn original ones you should hear, once I get you alone.” I touch her forehead with my mine, inhaling her soft scent. “But first,” I spin towards the haggard heap of a man on the ground, “let’s take out the trash, shall we?”

Chapter 30

SOPHIA

Life sure was strange.

But it wasn’t a novel.

It couldn’t be wrapped up in themes of Stephen King horror or Russian tales of romance and fancy.

Because real life—and all that came with it—was both, interspersed with the good, the bad, the fanciful and everything in-between.

The real thing was so much better.

And it didn’t get more real than Noah Quinn staring at me as he walks down the aisle to join his brothers’ side in a dark tuxedo that I could swear was painted on.

I sit on the groom’s side under the newly erected white tents on the Quinn Estates property, my heart full as Noah’s family and my friends watch the proceeding, a misty atmosphere of misty-eyed affection spreading among the guests as Jase Quinn and Mindy Lessman profess their undying love to one another.

I barely had time to change when we returned from The Alchemist after holding Rick inside just long enough for the police to show up.

My jeans are still on, coat and shirt still ruffled. The scuffle with Rick for the gun leaves my already-worn