pace falters along the cement dock, shock shooting down my spine.
“Aye, my brathair and Erika have shite to deal with.”
When Leith clasps my hand, I stall. “But Justice! She’s sitting right next to—”
“Hen!” Leith has a firm grip on my cheeks. “I’ll call Camdyn down. Ye can go comfort Justice.”
A flash of hurt crosses my face. His broad shoulders drop, as well as his harried demeanor. Leith gazes down at me. A look of love and devotion shines in his gorgeous cerulean eyes. His palms settle along my waist. The warm touch alights my entire body, and he descends on me with a kiss that scorches through me. A kiss dominates my entire senses until Leith’s my sole focus, the center of my universe.
“Hen, I’ll need ya focused.” His tone epitomizes encouragement. “The only fear I have in life is losing ye or Mia. I’ll say it one last time, Chevelle, I’d rather do this with ye at my side. If yer heid’s not in it, I’m willing to mend this problem for ye.”
He’ll fix the problem without me. For me. Leith will die for me, kill for me. He’ll give me the entire world. In fact, over the years, he’s mended my throbbing soul. My heartbeat quickens in my chest while he holds out a hand, beckoning me to follow.
Chapter 65
Chevelle
Five minutes—three hundred seconds. That’s all the time necessary for the entire abduction of Fausto and Ophelia. The entire sequence of events transpires similar to the video games Leith and I were once addicted to. I’m in the driver's seat of a vehicle that Camdyn parked around the corner from the restaurant. He’d pulled a GTA right before the event and switched the plates.
In the passenger seat, Leith forks his fingers through a lock of dirty reddish-blond hair in his eye. He types on his laptop.
“Drive faster. Two corners, bend right,” he orders.
Working the clutch, I follow his instructions. I try to steady the drums imploding in my chest. With every inhale, an imaginary dagger twists and turns in my heart. The old wound that Leith’s arrival atoned for has unraveled.
“First left. Chevelle, make the bloody left! Slow down.” A flicker of concern crosses Leith’s face as he regards me for a moment. The muscles in his jaw flex. “Yer mind’s not in this. Drive us back to the restaurant. We’ll reschedule.”
“No!” My glare flickers over to him, locking onto his in defiance. His doubt drains when I add, “I’m ready for this, Leith.”
His hand finds mine for a half of a beat. The warm, callous touch is only a momentary comfort. My palms slide around the steering wheel. About a half-mile ahead, the tunnel comes into focus. The tail end of a red Bentley Continental eases straight through the cement opening.
Leith had rerouted all traffic coming from the opposite end of the tunnel. We’re the last to zip beneath the cement channel. About halfway through the two-mile tunnel, we see the cherry red luxury vehicle. Stalled. The emergency lights flicker, rousing my hesitant heart, the dagger in sudden rotation again.
Fausto is standing near the driver’s side door as we approach. He’s fiddling with his cellphone, a look of confusion crossing his face as he tosses the phone back into the car.
“Cellphone’s disabled, mate, just like your car,” Leith mutters, pulling on a pair of gloves.
Fausto’s arm cuts through the air as I pull into the suicide lane behind him.
“Ye’re strong, Chevelle. Use it.” Leith’s mouth bruises against mine in a fierce kiss. A dominant hand seizes my hair for a fraction of a second. Before I can intake air, Leith steps out of the car.
“You stopped, thank you, thank you! The world’s just not the same these days,” Fausto tells Leith. When I slide out of our stolen ride, Fausto’s eyes land on mine. He chokes on air. “Ophelia, lock the fucking door!”
“I wanted you to see my face.” While my sole concentration is on him, I slam the door. “To look into my eyes, Uncle Fausto.”
“Ophelia, lock—”
“I’m trying!” Her voice trembles through the open driver’s side window.
As I advance on him, Fausto steps back. “Bitch—”
“Nae,” Leith’s grave voice obliterates every thought from my mind. This was my show. He was my support. Now, I’m immobile. Leith moves fast; his forearm constricts Fausto’s airway. The fifty-something slimy attorney thumps against the car.
From the car window, Ophelia’s screams, “I can’t lock the door! Fausto? Fausto!”
“Four minutes,” Leith warns. His fist smashes into Fausto’s stomach. “Ye watch the mouth while