Page 13 of The Devil’s Detail (The Greystone Family: Greystone Brothers #2)
Jackson
The pincer movement by the over-fifties would rival the highest military strategists. They managed it with ease.
“Where the fuck is he?” I’ve caught up with Ash, who has a fantastic vantage point of the whole scene.
“Gary’s turned up with a camera crew,” he states in a bored voice, pointing to the little man giving it large on the outskirts of the crowd.
“What the fuck is he doing?” He’s randomly stopping people, and I can hear his whiny voice from here.
“Stop and search. Fashion Police—a bit nineties, but if it gets him in Carter’s orbit then he doesn’t care.
” I roll my eyes. “It’s his fifteen minutes, baby.
” Ash starts to laugh. “Carter’s about to go thermonuclear.
He’s been on it all day. I think he’s clocked Gaz.
” He points towards Carter in the middle of a crazy big crowd.
“What the fuck? Who the hell let it get to this.” I point at the people swarming like bees. And Carter, the queen bee, is in the middle. “Hasn’t Carter got any sort of banning order on Gary?”
“Not got sorted, according to my sources. And listening to them all, they were laughing about it. Dumb fuckers. Well this might just cost them.” He grimly points as Gary shimmies a bit nearer to the roaring masses.
I watch as Gary goads Carter. “Did he just smirk Carter’s way?”
Then it hits me. He wants Carter to go for him. He wants the publicity that it will bring, the notoriety, and probably the shit headlines it’ll bring Carter. Conniving shit .
Carter is frothing at the mouth, and not due to all the alcohol he’s clearly consumed.
“Are you going in?” I ask Ash hopefully, pointing to the roiling mass of fans. It’s like a poorly set up rugby scrum. People are starting to get feisty. “Maybe we ought to let his security team ‘ sort it .’” I put air quotes around the words.
Ash huffs out a laugh. “They can’t spell the word security, never mind actually do it. Who the fuck lets Carter Maywood out in London on a sunny Friday afternoon? And then have no crowd control. It’s a shambles.” He’s pissed off, but I can also hear the concern in his voice.
“He’s going to get hurt. You better get a car here. I might need a quick get away.”
Ash stands next to me, and we survey the scene as I check out all my potential exit points.
The panicking security team, the out-of-control crowds, and Carter signing autographs like he hasn’t a care in the world are concerning, but it’s not the main focus of my attention.
Something about his body language is a bit off.
And I realise despite his bravado and attempt to look and act normal, he’s scared.
I see him rake a hand through his hair again and again. He was doing that in the Daisy Cafe. Yeah, he knows this shit show is the biggest risk to his actual body.
“Well, now’s the time. The crowd is about to turn, Jackson.” Ash stares at me.
“You sure you don’t want the glory?” I grin at him.
“Naw, I’m eager to watch you in action again, brother. Get in there and rescue him. He’s besieged.” He smirks. “I’ll have the car waiting there.” He points to the best available rendezvous point.
I roll up my sleeves—God knows why—take a deep breath, and march towards the fray and fluttering mass of women.
I fight my way through, taking a few hits, and I’m sure I’ll have the bruises to prove it.
Christ, they’re strong. I didn’t realise how strong the over-fifties were until today.
How determined a woman in her seventies can be when she’s about to be face to face with a man who looks like the Greek gods have turned up on earth. And is there for her pleasure alone.
“Carter,” I state in greeting, bending instantly down in front of the crazed actor. His face is a picture of shock, but he allows me to throw him over my shoulder, fireman's lift style, and carry him off.
“Bye, babies.” He’s waving from behind my back. “See you next time.”
“Shut the fuck up, Carter, and get in the car.”
He’s waving and blowing kisses to his fans as Ash pulls up to our pre-arranged spot.
I shove Carter into the back seats and follow him in, closing the door as quickly as possible without snagging anyone’s fingers in the breach.
The banging on the car doors is scary, the crowd whipped up into a frenzy.
One look is enough to tell me Carter is hanging on by a thread. But the consummate professional, he doesn’t collapse until we’re speeding out of the clutches of the mad crowd.