I don’t know when Carly began to represent that, but I know with certainty in my gut that she is my only shot at any happiness.
I don’t want to want it. I want to stay in the darkness, the void left without Anna, but I’m dying here, pouring salt on my own wounds to keep them fresh and unhealed. And Carly makes me want to heal.
My gun lowers without my awareness, but the choice is made.
It’s funny. Just moments ago, I was ready to fire into a crowd, and while I wouldn’t take the shot if there was a chance I’d hit any bystanders, I would most likely catch a hail of return fire that would make Tony Montana look like a pussy.
But here I am, shoving my Glock back in my jacket pocket, on auto-pilot as I run for the stairs. Luckily, people get out of my way, though I notice a couple of other black-clad guys scanning the crowd with renewed vigor, wondering if they missed something on their security assignments.
They did. Me.
But it’s their target’s lucky day. It’s damn sure Nathan Stone’s.
I get downstairs and quickly skirt the crowd, heading for the hallway Carly disappeared down. I turn a corner and my eyes take in the scene in an instant.
He’s got her forced up against the wall. Grinding on her as she fights back.
I hear her. “Fuck you, Robert.”
In my brain, that registers as her ex, the one who screwed her up in the past.
Her past. My past. I need to get us away, out of this pit. She tried to save me and I wouldn’t let her, but maybe I can save her.
But as the thought skitters through my mind, my girl spits in Robert’s face like the fucking badass she is.
It’s in an instant that I feel a veil drop into place, dividing me in half. One part of me, the hurting side that’s screamed his emotional pain into pillows, laughed, and the man Carly knows steps aside.
What slides into place in the forefront is the other side of me, not emotionless but emotionally distant. A certain coldness falls over my body, a chill that has nothing to do with the air conditioning but with my mind knowing that I’m going to do whatever I have to do and I’ll deal with the fallout when it’s all over.
I can see his retaliation coming, but I’m too far to stop it though I’m already sprinting to cover the distance between us. He hits her and she flies to the floor. She’s going to be okay. It’s a hard hit, but she’s going to be okay.
But he’s not.
It’s a fast fight, more akin to an NFL sack than an actual fight. He’s not used to battling anyone who could actually hold their own against him.
Fucking bully.
My shoulder crashes into his ribs as I lift, taking two steps before twisting and dumping him over my shoulder, where he goes face first into the tile, shattering his nose. Blood gushes freely, coating his lips as he tries to yell.
“Wha—fuck!”
He tries to kick upward, and I grab his foot easily, taking perverse pleasure in twisting it hard to the outside, cracking bones and tearing ligaments. He howls, and I stomp on his fingers in response, adding some more injury to the hospital bill. He won’t be hitting anyone again, not with that fucked up hand.
He cries in agony, and I know I need to get out of here before anyone comes down the hallway. In a final fuck you to him, I kick him in the nuts, driving the wind out of him while sending enough pain through his body that it’s lights out.
I don’t have any pity and immediately ignore his limp body to turn to Carly, who’s on her knees, trying to regain her senses. Hearing my approach, she looks up, anger in her eyes, but I call out to her. “Carly?”
She shakes her head, like she doesn’t believe what she’s seeing. “Kyle? What the . . .”
She looks at Robert on the floor, and I expect her to freak out like she did last time she saw me looming over an unconscious body.
But she kicks out fast and sharp, laying a heel into his side. Even in unconsciousness, he grunts.
That’s my girl.
Shit.
‘My girl?’
I can’t do this now.
I slip my arms around her waist, hauling her up to her feet. But as soon as she gets her legs beneath her, she