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Luna: Killian? Please?
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Me: I’m on it.
I get dressed at record breaking speed. Next, I stalk over to Carter’s side, shaking his shoulder subtly. His eyes snap open, wide awake and ready for violence.
“What’s up?” He sits up, throwing his feet to the floor.
Amara twists to face us. Another word, another noise, or the light from my phone shining in Amara’s face, and she’ll be up again.
I signal him with my thumb to step outside, mouthing one word. Voltage.
Faster than I did, he pulls on his boxers and pants. We’re in our socks and shoes, throwing our shirts on, not wasting time lingering here and buttoning them. We can do it while we walk out of the room. We need to do it on the way.
“Luna called.” Silently, I close the door behind us. “And texted. Jesus fuck.”
“What?” Carter smooths back his bed hair, buttoning up.
“Boroughs.”
The one word has Carter’s lip curling in disgust. The voice reverberating from his chest is that of a rabid beast. We’re protective as fuck. Will stop at nothing to take care of what’s ours. Our hotel. Each other. Our girl.
Ever since that day at Voltage, Carter has insisted on going after Christopher. Killing him for how he treated Amara. Hiding his body where no one would ever find him.
I contemplated it. No, that’s hardly accurate.
I wanted him to bleed. Have been craving to stand over his corpse. Spit on it.
Still, I decided against it.
That was Christopher’s first offense. We beat him up. Revoked his membership. We couldn’t risk making him disappear. It would’ve been way too obvious.
Fingers would’ve been pointed at us. Questions would’ve been raised.
They wouldn’t wonder what Amara meant to us anymore.
They’d know.
That rationalization stopped Carter from slaughtering Christopher.
Had stopped him. In past tense.
Why couldn’t the dumbass hitman just let it go?
Too late for that.
Christopher Boroughs is a dead man.
Carter keeps reeling at my side while I relay Luna’s messages to him. We talk as we descend the steps, ignoring the smell of sex and sweat and a particular jasmine scent in the apartment.
We need to protect the hotel. Our status in the violent world we’re a part of. Otherwise, we won’t have many more nights like this one. We won’t have each other.
We’ll be stripped of anything, including our lives.
Unacceptable.
“He needs to be put down.” Carter shrugs into his jacket. His statement is plain. Final.
