Page 52 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

Xander’s nod was jerky and probably unconvincing. He didn’t turn around. If he did, Cassidy would see the truth in his eyes. He’d see the no, the plea.

The prayer to not leave him alone…not yet.

The suite was safer than his house. He knew that. His mind could list all the reasons why it was—God’s men were near and watching. Free had secured the floor. Cassidy was in the adjoining room. He wore a ring that could summon an army.

But his hands still trembled, his body refused to believe it.

After a moment, Cassidy moved toward one of the bedroom doors. “I’ll be right in here if you need me.”

I do need you.

He almost let the words out, but he pressed his lips together until they stayed trapped behind his teeth.

“Try to get some rest,” Cassidy said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The adjoining door closed and Xander slumped against the cool window and fought to level his breathing.

Now that he was out of sight of God and all those big, confident men, and no one was watching him, the truth of what had happened pressed in from every direction.

Someone had been inside his house…with a gun. They’d planned, orchestrated, and executed. They’d come so close.

Whoever was after him wasn’t some troll shouting insults behind a fake profile on social media. They were committed and smart.

Maybe next time, Cassidy wouldn’t arrive fast enough.

Xander didn’t know how long he stood there staring at nothing. Long enough that the city lights blurred, his shaking got worse, and his knees began to feel untrustworthy.

He was so damn tired, but afraid to sleep…to dream.

The bar caught his eye.

He opened the mini fridge tucked beneath the counter and grabbed the bottle of top-shelf vodka from the freezer compartment and an old-fashioned tumbler.

Both slipped from his shaky hands and hit the bar top with a sharp clatter that made him flinch so hard he bit his tongue.

“Damnit.”

He managed to pour a shot, though half of it sloshed across the stone counter. He didn’t bother to wipe it up before he threw the drink back.

The burn was instant and violent.

He coughed, squeezing his eyes shut as heat tore down his throat and landed hard in his chest.

The door opened across the suite.

Fuck.

He didn’t have the energy to pretend he was just enjoying a nightcap. He turned the bottle up again, spilling more on the bar but managing to get enough to cover the bottom of the glass.

He threw that back too, groaning at the burn, wondering how much it would take before his body gave up and passed out.

That was the only way he would sleep.

He lifted the freezing bottle again.

A big hand reached over his shoulder, closed around his own, and forced it back down to the bar.

“Enough.”