Page 31 of Finding Denver

I laugh. “I think I like you.”

“Thanks, Red.” She nudges me with her elbow. Her phone starts ringing. “God, what is his problem?” She answers, and I can hear him shouting at her to go home. “You know what, Dean?—”

While Sandy argues, I scan the restaurant.

And something feels … wrong.

People are eating, laughing, talking. Music plays from a piano in the corner. People on the street pass. Nothing has changed.

But the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and goose bumps climb up my arms. And then I realize the change.

Finn’s man at the door is gone.

“Ask him why,” I say to Sandy quickly. “Why do you need to leave?”

Sandy sighs. “Dean, why are you being so—” Her words drift away, and her eyes widen. “Are you fucking serious?”

I don’t need to ask what he said, because the door to the restaurant is already opening.

A man steps inside, a dark coat over a suit. The world slows, a symphony of crystal glasses and cutlery against dishes, the music dragging to an almost painful slowness. The man’s gaze sweeps across the restaurant, landing on Colt and Finn’s table.

A waitress stumbles in front of their booth, a plate smashing. Colt gets up to help her.

I know what’s about to happen. A Capelli has seen the opportunity to take down two important men. This restaurant is about to be filled with bullets and blood. Colt Harland and Finn McEwan are about to die.

I should walk away. This isn’t my territory; they aren’t my friends. I don’t even know them. Colt has prevented me from getting my revenge for too long, and with him out of the picture, I could maybe find Wilder. Colt’s family, his empire, will be unprotected. Weak. I could tear everything apart.

I can return to San Francisco, find Sebastian, and tell him I did what I promised I’ddo.

It would finally be over.

But an image flashes in my mind. Of a little girl sleeping in Colt’s arms. Of his hand rubbing her back. Of a father, and a daughter. A family.

“Pull the fire alarm and run,” I say to Sandy, already on my feet.

The man steps forward, reaching into his coat, but I’ve already pulled my gun. I point it at the ceiling and fire. The restaurant erupts into screams, plaster dust scattering over me and the ground. The Capelli looks at me.

I lower my weapon to him, gripping the butt of my gun with one hand, the other squeezing the trigger. I fire once. It lands in his chest, and he jerks back. I fire again. He goes down.

Water erupts from the sprinklers. An alarm starts screaming.

When I look at Colt’s table, he’s standing. Water rains between us, his shirt sticking to his skin, my hair dripping. We’re both breathing heavily, and the moment is frozen, my decision thickening the air between us. My weapon is by my side, water running down my face as he keeps his eyes locked on mine.

I just made a choice that I want to believe changes nothing, but I couldn’t be more wrong. It isn’t me protecting a father. It isn’t me returning a favor when he saved me in that hotel.

It’s a Luxe taking sides.

Finn turns and looks at me, and even through the fog of adrenaline and the space between us, I know what he says. “Cara?”

My mother’s name.

“Denver, down!” Colt bellows across the room.

Shot are fired.

I duck behind the table just as bullets hit the kitchen door. The floor is soaked, and water leaks through the knees of my jeans as I lift my head and watch men flood the restaurant. They must be his and Finn’s men, because Colt shouts, “Stop fucking shooting!” His voice is enraged, a thunder crack over the sobs of the patrons and the scream of the alarm.

I only know the shooting has stopped when a strong hand grips my arm and pulls me to my feet.