Bloody Heart (Brutal Birthright #4) - Sophie Lark Page 0,86
or no ice?”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“He means no ice, thank you,” Aida says to the waiter. To me, she says, “You’re a dick.”
“I don’t like fancy places,” I grumble. “They have to make everything so damned complicated.”
“This is not fancy,” Aida says. “This is normal.”
“Oh yeah?” I raise an eyebrow at her. “Now that you’re a Griffin, a thirty-dollar salad is plebeian to you?”
Aida sets down the butter knife, glaring at me. “First of all, I’m still a Gallo,” she tells me, adding, “No offense,” for Callum’s benefit.
“None taken,” he says, flipping over to the next page of permit applications.
“And if you’re planning on winning back your ex-girlfriend, who probably eats gold-leaf soufflé for a snack because she’s a fucking world-famous supermodel, you better take her somewhere nicer than the Rose Grille.”
I can feel my face flushing. “Who says I’m trying to win her back?”
Aida rolls her eyes. “I know you’re not stupid enough to let her get away again. Not after you spent nine whole years moping.”
The waiter sets down our water glasses. He forgot and filled them all with ice. Not that I give a shit either way.
“Can I take your order?” he says nervously.
“Burger, medium,” I say. “Please.”
“Same,” Aida says, handing him her menu. “Thanks.”
“Steak sandwich,” Cal says, not looking up from his papers.
Once the waiter leaves, I point to the water glasses. “See? He wasn’t listening to you anyway.”
“That’s probably toilet water in yours,” Aida says sweetly.
Callum’s reading the last page of applications. “What’s this one?” he says.
“Let me see . . .” I lean over for a closer look. Aida leans in, too. But she’s not as coordinated as usual, since her proportions have changed. Her belly bumps the table, knocking Callum’s ice water into his lap.
Cal jumps up from the table, shouting, ice cubes flying in every direction off his crotch. At that exact moment the window shatters, a waterfall of glass raining down. Something whistles through the air, right where Cal’s head had been a millisecond before. A vase of peonies explodes over his shoulder. A hail of pottery shards hit my right arm, while shards of glass from the window cut my left.
Cal and I react almost at the same time. We grab the table, flip it on its side, and pull Aida down behind it, so it forms a barricade between us and the window.
Meanwhile, the rest of the diners have cottoned on that the window is broken and we’ve hunkered down in a makeshift foxhole. After a moment of shocked silence, there’s a stampede for the front doors.
“Go!” I say to Cal.
Taking advantage of the chaos, and staying low to the ground, we run in the opposite direction, toward the kitchens. The shooter is across the street—we need to go out the back.
We shove through the swinging double doors into the kitchen. The cooks are all standing around in confusion, having heard the commotion out in the dining room, but not knowing what the fuck is going on.
“Clear out!” Cal shouts at them.
They spook like deer, dashing out into the alleyway behind the restaurant.
Cal pulls his gun out of his suit jacket, and I do the same with the one I’m wearing on a holster under my shirt. Cal’s in a tactical stance, covering the entrance to the kitchen. I do the same with the exit.
“Do you want to stay in here?” Cal asks me.
“Let’s get the fuck out before the cops come,” I tell him.
There’s a chance that another shooter has the back covered, but I doubt it. I think we’re dealing with the same motherfucker from the rally. A lone wolf.
To be sure, I pull on a white chef’s coat and I go out the back door, quickly scanning the rooftops on both sides of the alley to make sure we’re clear. Then I cover the door from behind the trash bins while Cal and Aida come out.
We hustle down the alley to the restaurant’s catering van. The keys are tucked under the sun visor, so it takes us all of five seconds to steal it. We roar down the alleyway, metal catering trays rattling around in the back.
“What the fuck was that!” Aida shouts, as we turn onto Franklin street.
“That was a fucking sniper,” Cal says through gritted teeth. I can tell he’s furious—and not because someone just tried to kill him. I think it’s because this is the second time that shooting has happened within ten feet of his pregnant wife.