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Mr. Harrison follows suit by pushing his chair back. “Not a problem, Ms. Monroe. I must be going anyway.”

“If you wouldn’t mind leaving your contact information with my assistant, I’ll be in touch soon to discuss how you’d like to proceed and what I’ll need from you.”

“Of course. I’ll be sure to do that.” Mr. Harrison places his hand on the small of my back as I lead him out of the conference room. His touch sends shivers down my spine, and not the good kind.

He reaches into his pocket and hands me a business card printed with his name and number. Without another word, he strolls down the hall, hands firmly placed in his suit pants. He doesn’t spare Zara a glance before he exits the building.

“Hey. You okay?” Promise steps out into the hallway.

Shaking my head, I decide all the drama that’s been wreaking havoc on my life lately has me on edge and overthinking everything. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Then I remember the phone call waiting for me. “Shoot.” I snap my fingers. “I have a call waiting.” I rush into my office and snatch the receiver from the landline on my desk, but when I put the phone to my ear, all I get is dial tone.

By seven in the evening, I’m bone tired and ready to get back to the clubhouse.

All I want is a glass of wine and a hot shower.

Promise left a couple of hours ago when Nova came to pick her up, and Zara left shortly after.

I stayed behind to meet with Missy Tyler, a single mother who is currently in a nasty custody battle with her ex-husband.

Missy works full-time and has an asshole boss who won’t allow her time off work, so on the days I meet with her, I extend my own hours to accommodate her schedule.

Raised by a single mother, I know firsthand how difficult it is to juggle work and life.

“Ready?” Catcher sticks his head in my office.

“Yep. Just let me grab my purse.” I open the bottom drawer of my desk and retrieve my things. “Mind if we stop by Jonny’s on the way? I want to pick up a bottle of wine.”

Catcher pulls out his phone. “Yeah. I’ll give Everest a heads up.” And we head out.

The drive to Jonny’s Liquor is out of the way, but he always has my favorite wine in stock, so it’s worth the drive.

On the way, Catcher follows close behind on his bike.

When we pull into the parking lot, Catcher parks beside my driver's side door. As I climb out, I watch him scan our surroundings. Not only is Jonny’s in the opposite direction of the clubhouse, but it’s in a bad part of town—I’m talking bars on the windows, bad part of town—however, like I said, he carries the good stuff.

Also, I like Jonny. He’s a good guy. Jonny was due to retire last year, but his wife of thirty-two years was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Their social security and retirement alone wouldn’t cover her treatments, so he stays open in order to care for her.

I suppose I could shop at another store and simply request they carry my favorite wine, but my loyalty lies with Jonny.

As we walk up to the store, I notice Catcher’s attention is elsewhere, and I follow his gaze to the empty parking lot across the street.

A silver four-door sedan with tinted windows is parked in front of a closed dry cleaner.

I can’t see who is in the car, but I know someone is there by the cigarette smoke billowing through the cracked driver’s side window. “Everything okay?” I ask.

Catcher jerks his chin, motioning me to keep moving, but he doesn’t say anything.

I shrug my shoulders and take that as a sign not to worry.

A bell chimes when we walk through the store door, alerting Jonny to our arrival.

I spot him sitting on a stool behind the cash register.

A television with the local news playing is mounted on a wall above his head.

A huge grin stretches across his weathered face when he sees me. “London! How come you haven’t been by to see me? How have you been?”

“Hey, Mr. Jonny. Work has been keeping me busy. How’s Sherlene?”

“Sherlene is hangin’ in there.” Mr. Jonny’s face lights up at the mention of his wife. “She just started takin’ a water aerobics class down at the Y. My Sherlene is keepin’ those kids down there on their toes.”

I laugh. “I have no doubt about that. I'm glad to hear she’s doing well.” I move to the back of the store, where the wine is stocked. “You got the good stuff!” I call out.

“You know it. Top shelf, darlin’.”

I spot what I’m looking for and snag two bottles off the shelf. When I return to the front, Catcher still hovers by the door. Only now, his face is hard, and he’s holding his gun.

“Catcher, what’s going on?” I can’t help the tremble in my voice.

“We need to go now ,” he clips.

I nod and, with shaky hands, reach into my purse and pull out some cash. “Here, Mr. Jonny. Keep the change.” I set the money down on the counter.

Mr. Jonny looks from me to Catcher. “You all right, dear?”

I swallow. “I’ll be okay.”

Mr. Jonny has lived in New Orleans his whole life.

He knows who Catcher is and who the Kings are, so he knows I’m in no danger with Catcher.

But when I see him pull his shotgun out from under the counter, I realize he also senses danger.

Jonny is no stranger to being robbed. However, whatever has Catcher on high alert has nothing to do with a robbery.

When I peek over Catcher’s shoulder, I glimpse that car we saw parked across the street when we first arrived, only now it’s rolling into the liquor store parking lot.

“Do you know who that is?” I ask Catcher.

He shakes his head. “No. But I don’t like his looks.” Catcher pulls out his phone.

Mr. Jonny walks out from behind the counter, shotgun in hand. “Want me to call the police?”

As soon as the words spill from Mr. Jonny’s mouth, a hail of gunfire rips through the storefront window.

Shards of broken glass fly all around me, and I scream.

The wind is knocked out of my lungs when Catcher’s large body slams into me.

On the debris-riddled floor, he uses his body to shield mine while whoever is outside continues to shoot.

Bullets rip through Jonny’s store for what feels like forever until suddenly the shooting stops and is replaced by deathly silence.

The only thing I can hear is the rapid beating of my heart and Catcher’s heavy breathing.

“Oh my God. What the fuck?” I start to panic, and then I remember Mr. Jonny. “Mr. Jonny!” I call out as I try to push Catcher off me.

“He’s good,” Catcher rumbles, shifting slightly.

I look to my left and see Mr. Jonny crouched down behind a display shelf. He has a cut on his forearm that’s bleeding, but otherwise appears unharmed. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Stay low,” Catcher orders. Gun in hand, he slowly and cautiously creeps over to the window, stretches his neck, and peeks out. “Fuck.” He drops back down.

“What did you see?” I whisper.

“Four men,” he tells me. “One in the car, driver’s side, two standing out front, and one approaching the building on the right.”

“Here.” Mr. Jonny digs in his front pocket, pulls out a set of keys, and slides them across the floor toward Catcher. “My truck is parked out back. I’ll hold them sons of bitches off while you get London out of here.”

“What?” I shake my head. “No. You have to come with us. We are not leaving you here.” I look at Catcher. “We are not leaving him here.”

I watch Mr. Jonny and Catcher share a look.

“Go.” Mr. Jonny jerks his chin and then goes to where Catcher is posted.

Catcher grits his teeth and then moves.

I go to argue when he grabs hold of my arm. “Catcher,” I hiss.

“Go with Catcher, sweetheart,” Mr. Jonny urges. “I can take care of myself.”

“Let’s move.” Catcher doesn’t give me time to say anything else before he’s practically dragging me across the floor. “Keep low and stay behind me.”

I take one last look at Jonny over my shoulder as I follow Catcher to the back of the store toward the emergency exit.

He gives me a reassuring nod. In front of me, Catcher pauses.

He and Mr. Jonny share one last look. Mr. Jonny nods and cocks his gun.

Moments later, the air fills with the sound of gunfire once again.

When Catcher and I reach the rear exit, he pushes the door open a smidge and peeks out.

Sensing we are clear, he reminds me, “Stay close,” then we make a run for it.

Parked about thirty feet from us is a pick-up truck.

Just as we reach the driver’s side door, a bullet pierces the window, followed by another blast. Catcher’s body jerks and slams into the side of the truck.

Without hesitation, he returns fire, killing the guy.

I scream and cover my head when a bullet whizzes past. That’s when I notice two more guys rounding the corner of the building.

“Get in the fuckin’ truck, now !” Catcher bellows.

I shove open the door and dive into the truck. As Catcher tosses me the keys, I notice blood soaking through his shirt over his shoulder. “Oh my God, Catcher. You’ve been shot.”

Catcher continues to return fire, and the two men duck behind the dumpster.

Just as he goes to climb into the truck behind me, three more shots ring out.

Catcher grunts as his body slumps against the truck’s driver’s seat before slumping to the ground.

I watch in horror as blood pours from a hole in his chest.

For as long as I live, I will never forget the gurgling sound currently coming from his mouth.

“Catcher.” I choke on a sob.

Go, he mouths, his eyes wide and trained on my face.