Page 43 of Total Jane Wreck

What am I doing? I promised myself that I wouldn’t ask Chet for help.

Chet cups my chin, tilting it up so our gazes meet. “Jane, if you need me to—”

“I don’t.” I seize his hand, guiding it from my chin to my chest, where my heart hammers against my ribs. “Enough talking.” My whisper is urgent. Our foreheads touch; his breath is hot against my lips. “Kiss me instead.”

Chet hesitates for a moment, then seems to give in. “If you insist,” he mumbles.

Chet’s ravenous mouth claims mine, making me swoon. As dusk blankets the overlook, our bodies press together. His fingers tangle in my hair. Every touch ignites something primal in me. Dizzy with want, I’m galloping toward a precipice. The rational part of me screams a warning even as I lose myself in his taste, his scent, the delicious weight of him. I could surrender to this fire between us.

I almost do.

But then I’m startled by a distant pop followed by light blooming above Sugar Pine. Fireworks. Chet’s hand slides to my waist, his arousal evident against my hip. When his tongue traces my bottom lip, I can’t help the soft moan that escapes my lips.

“We should probably get back,” I murmur. But just the thought of leaving here, leaving him, leaving this moment—it’s painful.

“How are you more worried about getting back than I am?” Chet’s breath is hot against my neck.

“Don’t want people noticing that we’re gone and putting two and two together.” My fingers betray me, grazing his skin underneath his shirt.

“As you wish,” he murmurs. But Chet doesn’t move away.

We lie together until the fireworks fizzle out and the moon is high. Chet’s fingers trace idle patterns on the back of my hand.

Too soon, through silent, mutual agreement, Chet and I stand and head back to the ranch. We take the switchback trail. Compared to the hush of the cliff, the ranch is chaos. There are drunk tech bros wrestling on the lawn. Meanwhile, the catering staff urges the locals to disperse, insisting that the party’s over. But that doesn’t explain my growing sense of unease.

Then I hear it—a cry that cuts clean through the noise of the crowd and the last of the fireworks and every thought in my head.

It comes from the blue barn.

My stomach drops. I don’t think. I just move, shoving the picnic bag into Chet’s chest, pushing forward. Bodies are clustered near the blue barn’s door. “Excuse me,” I holler. “Please, let me through.”

Axel Rose, River, and other locals are gathered around something. Or should I say, someone. Because lying on the ground near the blue barn’s door is Mason. There’s a hoof knife wedged underneath his shoulder blade.

I know hoof knives. The blade is short and curved, designed to pare away dead skin. It doesn’t make a long wound, but a hooked and deep one. Mason’s shirt is dark and wet. He’s conscious, which is something. But his breathing is shallow and he’s trembling.

Gloria and Tom come rushing up.

“Oh my Lord,” Gloria cries, “what’s happened?” She rushes to her stepson, kneeling down. “Mason, who did this to you?”

He rouses and sits up. “Wh—What the hell just happened?”

“Somebody attacked you,” Tom states. “That’s what happened.”

Mason cranes his neck toward the knife. Even that small movement makes him wince. “Somebody attacked me.” Mason echoes Tom’s words in disbelief.

“Okay, nothing to see here,” Chet says to all the rubberneckers. His voice is quiet, which is somehow worse than if he’d shouted. His blue-black eyes do the rest, making people obey him. They all start moving away. Except for me.

I stay, hoping that Chet won’t notice, or—if he does notice—that he won’t mind.

Chet’s gaze darts to the blood staining Mason’s shirt, then away, as if he can’t quite bear to look. Tom and Gloria stand over Mason, hands hovering around his shoulders, frantic yet afraid to touch him.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” Chet says. He takes out his phone.

“I don’t need one. Jesus, I’m fine,” Mason grunts. But his face betrays the pain. His nostrils flare with every shallow inhale.

“You were stabbed,” Gloria says. “It’s better to have the knife removed by a doctor so they can stabilize the wound.”

Chet speaks to the 911 operator, then clicks off the phone. “Help will be here soon.”