Page 92 of Intent to Kill
The panic that was squeezing his chest was written all over her face. “But that means–”
“I know, baby.”
“But—this,” she said, breaths coming in heavy pants. “Is this goodbye? Are you running again?”
“No.”
“Then you’re dea–”
“Don’t say it. Not...tonight. Tomorrow. Please,” Adam said, brushing her hair back over her shoulder.
Mercedes placed the gun in her sights again. She landed six angry shots in a row, hitting the blue glass bottles now and smashing them on impact. The rules were officially off the table, it seemed. “I can’t lose–”
“You won’t lose anyone,” he said, but she just frowned. “Worried about me, baby?” Said to inject playfulness back into their conversation, but his voice broke on the words.
“What a stupid question,” she huffed, throwing herself into his arms.
“Worry tomorrow,” he said, placing a kiss on her forehead.
“Tomorrow,” she agreed.
* * *
After he’d dropped Mercedes back at the mansion, Adam spent the rest of the night on the beach staring out into the waves. He returned to his hotel room the next morning to find Dan, glasses on, was busily working through paper files on the dining room table while Carlos was down in the far room cooking crystals.
Paul had been pacing at the window, and he startled, rushing forward as Adam opened the door. Adam shook his head sharply. “Wait until she gets here,” Adam said. Paul returned to the window away from his friends, like he was afraid he would give something away.
Adam shuffled down the hallway, hands in pockets, to watch Carlos work in the far room. Adam was distracted when Mercedes finally entered, removing her leather jacket and hanging it up on the coat rack behind her.
“Drop that for a minute, Carlos, and come to the kitchen,” Adam said. Smoke puffed but Carlos stepped out of it, removing his safety goggles and nestling them in his dark hair.
“Everyone, come sit down,” Adam said. “We need to have a chat.”
Paul, Carlos, and Mercedes joined Dan at the dining room table while Adam stood over them. He must’ve looked pretty skittish, because they were all immediately attentive.
“What is it?” Dan said, removing his glasses.
Adam caught a lump in his throat as he struggled to tell his friends the truth. He was a fun guy. An official ‘fucker-up-of-shit’, if that were a thing. Bad news wasn’t his forte. How did he even become the leader? He was stalling. He sighed and ripped off the metaphorical Band-Aid. “We have good intel that Dorian Blake might know I’m alive.”
“What sort of intel?” Carlos asked.
“Well, Paul and I–” Adam started, but his throat caught again.
“We followed T.B. and Antonio to the cemetery, and caught them digging up Adam’s grave, right down to the coffin,” Paul finished, in more of a blurt.
Hands resting upon the table, Adam looked over to Mercedes, who sat back in her chair with her arms crossed, their eyes locking as they waited for the roars they expected.
“I didn’t know they turned to grave robbing,” Dan mumbled.
“Or they know I’m not actually dead,” Adam said, to remind them of the seriousness of the situation.
“It’s not just that,” Mercedes said. “Dorian was asking me about the four of you.”
“Well, that’s officially not fucking good,” Dan said, his voice rising, but still bubbling below the surface of outright panic.
“We did a good job of faking your death, Adam, even if he does dig you up, he’ll find a fucking skeleton,” Carlos nodded, pointing his finger.
“He... will?” Adam frowned.
