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I suck in air and fire, doubling over, but I’m held upright by my savior.
He sets my feet down on the stage. “Are you all right?” he asks, and his voice is gravelly and impossibly deep.
No. No, no. No. Nope. This isn’t happening.
I turn around and stare up into Savage’s dark eyes, streaked amber by the morning sunlight, and hate my life. He releases me, a frown wrinkling his brow, and holds his arms around me in a protective circle without touching me.
Because why would he want to touch me? I’m the geeky younger sister who just choked on a pepper in front of everyone.
“I’m fine,” I manage, even though my throat is raw, and I am mentally not okay.
I want out of here. The competition is over for me because the rules are simple—leave your station and you’re out.
Savage scans my face, searching me for I have no idea what, and then he finally gives a nod. His gaze shifts over my head and darkens into something beastly. “You,” he says, and then he moves past me.
He walks up to Richard and grabs him by the front of his pepper-spritzed jacket. He lifts him off the stage so that his fancy loafers dangle and kick. Richard’s jaw drops. The reporter’s face is dotted with bits of orange pepper and habanero seeds. He’s lucky he didn’t get any in the eyes.
The crowd shouts, the cameraman is getting every second of the altercation and loving it, and most of the other contestants have stopped their pepper-eating, unsure of whether the contest is still on or not. Except for Paul, of course, who is just about done with his first plate.
“You didn’t realize she was choking? Are you fucking dumb?” Savage growls, giving Richard a shake. “Where are the medics?”
“M-Medics?” Richard manages.
“You don’t have a medical team on standby at this event?” Savage’s words are deathly. “What kind of idiot are you?”
“Hey, man, I’m just the host,” Richard says, his tone reedy. “Listen, I?—”
“Do safety standards mean nothing to you people?” Savage drops him, towering over him.
It’s too much. The choking, Savage saving me. The mortification and the loss. I turn and run down the stage steps as fast as my legs will carry me.
The most important day of my life? Try the worst day of my life. I can’t get out of Heatstroke fast enough.
Two
SAVAGE
I’m playing with fire by coming here, but I can’t not check on her. And I have an excuse.
The Harley burbles as I direct it toward the Heatstroke Public Library. It’s been a day since Hannah choked on a hot pepper, and I’ve spent every minute thinking about what happened.
I haven’t been angry enough to lose control in years. Not since before I moved to Heatstroke, but yesterday, I nearly lost it. That fucking dumbass. It still makes me boil with anger—the sight of Hannah red in the face, dragging on that reporter’s arm, dropping to her knees in front of him while he gave her a vacant “TV-friendly” smile and announced she was out of the contest.
What kind of man was he to let that happen?
What kind of man are you?
I park the Harley in a spot outside the library, take off my helmet, hang it over my handlebar, and snap the helmet lock into place. I grab the book on horticulture from my saddlebag and head up the stone steps toward the open front doors.
Turn around.
But I won’t or I can’t.
I made a promise to look out for her. And another promise I try not to think about, and the two parts of my brain are warring. I manage to convince myself that I’m being a good friend to Cash by the time I enter the library.
Hannah’s not at the glossy front counter, the wood worn from years of use, so I tuck the book under my arm and head between the stacks. I nod to the elderly woman behind the counter, and she purses her lips. Maybe because she was there for my loss of temper yesterday. Or maybe it’s the permanent frown I wear.
The library smells like every library on the planet. Books, a hint of dust, and old wood. The quiet in here is a comfort, but it doesn’t stop me from pacing up and down the rows of books with my features twisted into a scowl.
