Better When He's Bold
Page 93
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I met his razor-sharp glare with a grimace. “She’s my best friend and she sounded really upset. Of course I told her where I was at.” But now I regretted it on a soul-deep level.
Booker reached around me and pointed at Karsen. “All right, little puppy, you get your ass in that room and stay put. Lock the door, put all the furniture you can move in front of it, and don’t come out for anything. Not for me, not for your sister—not anything. You understand me?”
Karsen’s eyes bugged in her face and she looked at me with panic in her gaze. Booker’s voice sounded harsh and left no room for argument.
“Why? What’s going on?”
He let go of me and moved to nudge Karsen as I slowly shook my head from side to side, furious at myself and my own stupidity. “I think Dovie is in trouble and I’m pretty sure she’s bringing it this way. Do what Booker says, Karsen. When it’s safe to come out I’ll text you. Until you get that message, you stay put.”
She shuddered. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Dovie would never hurt anyone.”
I frowned really hard as the pieces of the puzzle started to lock into place in my head and all the wrong things with the situation started to burn bright and clear behind the fear that was coursing through me. “She wouldn’t. She also wouldn’t have a fight with Bax and call to blab to me about it. That isn’t how she works.” I put a hand on my sister’s shoulder and squeezed. “Please do what Booker is telling you to do.”
We stared at each other for a long minute, her brown eyes full of things far beyond her tender years. Finally she nodded and disappeared down the hallway. Booker walked to the closed door and waited until the sound of furniture scraping across the floor could be heard throughout the condo.
When he stalked back toward me I don’t think I had ever seen anyone look scarier or more ready to handle business.
“Dovie is part of this place. She knows Race was freaked out about anyone knowing where you are. She’s too smart to ask for that info. None of this is right. You need to go upstairs and do the same thing I just had your sister do.” He produced a nasty-looking gun from somewhere behind his back and held it out to me. “Do you know how to use this?”
I shook my head numbly. I had never actually been up close with a weapon before. Like everything in my life since I got tangled up in the Point, it looked cold and deadly, yet seemed so totally necessary.
“No. I’ve never touched a gun in my life.”
He swore some more, got really creative with every dirty word in the book, and then opened and closed a series of kitchen drawers until he produced a wicked-looking butcher knife. He slapped it on the counter in front of me and stated in a tone that left no room for argument, “Take that. If you need to use it then shit is fucked and I don’t know what else to tell you other than good luck, Blondie. Now get your ass upstairs.”
The last of his words were drowned out by a knock on the door. I felt my eyes widen and gulped when he moved around me all tense and coiled to attack like a predator. More knocking rattled the door, and I still hadn’t moved, so I shook myself loose and ran toward the stairs with every intention of barricading myself in the master bathroom until I got the “all clear” from Booker. Only before I hit the first step there was a series of loud pops and the sound of splintering wood. Blood bloomed furiously scarlet across Booker’s chest and I saw him turn around to tell me to run when the door was kicked open with a resounding thud. I watched in horror as Booker pulled his own weapon and the sound of more shots filled the space. It sounded like a gun range or an Old West shootout, but it was the middle of the day on the docks and this place obviously wasn’t on the up-and-up if Race had managed to get it put in my name so easily, so I didn’t expect any help from the neighbors in the other units. Especially with the entire place smelling like gunpowder and blood.
In the Point everyone only knew how to look out for themselves and how to look the other way. I backed up a few more steps as Booker’s giant frame teetered to one side and a circle of crimson started to bloom rapidly across his back as he fell to his knees. Another shot popped off and I saw him fall face-first right at the doorway as the gun in his hand clattered uselessly to the floor. I screamed but was smart enough to turn and bolt up the rest of the stairs. I needed to call Race. I needed to find help, and all I could think was I needed to put as many doors and as much space between me and the shooter as possible.
I was worried about Booker. I was worried about Dovie. I was worried about my sister, and I was worried about myself.
Booker reached around me and pointed at Karsen. “All right, little puppy, you get your ass in that room and stay put. Lock the door, put all the furniture you can move in front of it, and don’t come out for anything. Not for me, not for your sister—not anything. You understand me?”
Karsen’s eyes bugged in her face and she looked at me with panic in her gaze. Booker’s voice sounded harsh and left no room for argument.
“Why? What’s going on?”
He let go of me and moved to nudge Karsen as I slowly shook my head from side to side, furious at myself and my own stupidity. “I think Dovie is in trouble and I’m pretty sure she’s bringing it this way. Do what Booker says, Karsen. When it’s safe to come out I’ll text you. Until you get that message, you stay put.”
She shuddered. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Dovie would never hurt anyone.”
I frowned really hard as the pieces of the puzzle started to lock into place in my head and all the wrong things with the situation started to burn bright and clear behind the fear that was coursing through me. “She wouldn’t. She also wouldn’t have a fight with Bax and call to blab to me about it. That isn’t how she works.” I put a hand on my sister’s shoulder and squeezed. “Please do what Booker is telling you to do.”
We stared at each other for a long minute, her brown eyes full of things far beyond her tender years. Finally she nodded and disappeared down the hallway. Booker walked to the closed door and waited until the sound of furniture scraping across the floor could be heard throughout the condo.
When he stalked back toward me I don’t think I had ever seen anyone look scarier or more ready to handle business.
“Dovie is part of this place. She knows Race was freaked out about anyone knowing where you are. She’s too smart to ask for that info. None of this is right. You need to go upstairs and do the same thing I just had your sister do.” He produced a nasty-looking gun from somewhere behind his back and held it out to me. “Do you know how to use this?”
I shook my head numbly. I had never actually been up close with a weapon before. Like everything in my life since I got tangled up in the Point, it looked cold and deadly, yet seemed so totally necessary.
“No. I’ve never touched a gun in my life.”
He swore some more, got really creative with every dirty word in the book, and then opened and closed a series of kitchen drawers until he produced a wicked-looking butcher knife. He slapped it on the counter in front of me and stated in a tone that left no room for argument, “Take that. If you need to use it then shit is fucked and I don’t know what else to tell you other than good luck, Blondie. Now get your ass upstairs.”
The last of his words were drowned out by a knock on the door. I felt my eyes widen and gulped when he moved around me all tense and coiled to attack like a predator. More knocking rattled the door, and I still hadn’t moved, so I shook myself loose and ran toward the stairs with every intention of barricading myself in the master bathroom until I got the “all clear” from Booker. Only before I hit the first step there was a series of loud pops and the sound of splintering wood. Blood bloomed furiously scarlet across Booker’s chest and I saw him turn around to tell me to run when the door was kicked open with a resounding thud. I watched in horror as Booker pulled his own weapon and the sound of more shots filled the space. It sounded like a gun range or an Old West shootout, but it was the middle of the day on the docks and this place obviously wasn’t on the up-and-up if Race had managed to get it put in my name so easily, so I didn’t expect any help from the neighbors in the other units. Especially with the entire place smelling like gunpowder and blood.
In the Point everyone only knew how to look out for themselves and how to look the other way. I backed up a few more steps as Booker’s giant frame teetered to one side and a circle of crimson started to bloom rapidly across his back as he fell to his knees. Another shot popped off and I saw him fall face-first right at the doorway as the gun in his hand clattered uselessly to the floor. I screamed but was smart enough to turn and bolt up the rest of the stairs. I needed to call Race. I needed to find help, and all I could think was I needed to put as many doors and as much space between me and the shooter as possible.
I was worried about Booker. I was worried about Dovie. I was worried about my sister, and I was worried about myself.
