The Witness (Miami Private Security #4)

37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Sabrina

“ T hat was worse than a bar fight and all-night surveillance duty. My face hurts from smiling, my feet are throbbing, I have lemon juice eating through my cuticles, and my eardrums hurt like I just left an AC/DC concert.” Michael flopped back into the passenger seat in my catering van.

“Welcome to the glamorous life of private events.”

It was after four in the morning. The private New Year’s Eve party for an up-and-coming rapper, DJ Fire, that I’d scored at the last minute was finally over. Thank God, I’d included a huge hourly rate for overtime in my contract. This wasn’t my first party like this. The music industry people in Miami didn’t think a party should end before the sun came up.

My van was parked in the loading zone of DJ Fire’s swanky Brickell Avenue building. We’d just loaded the last of my equipment in the back. I unbuttoned my chef’s jacket to enjoy the refreshing breeze that blew in my open door. Twisting around, I found the small cooler behind my seat. I took two bottled waters out and passed one to Michael. He’d earned it.

“Here. Drink. If the bodyguard thing ever gets boring, you can bartend for me anytime. You did great.” I winked at him. It had been a long night. My other staff had already headed home.

“Thanks.” He smiled and shook his head, then downed the bottle of water.

I watched the way his throat worked as he swallowed. How can drinking be sexy? Oh yeah. Because it's Michael.

“At least we got to kiss each other at midnight.” I turned the key in the ignition and my not so sexy van roared to life. “A bunch of people took selfies with me and shared my crowdfunding site.” TV celebrity chefs didn’t just make and serve food, we hobnobbed with guests. That was why we charged the big bucks.

“That’s an awesome PR move, Chef Dalton. But can we go home and sleep now?” He covered a yawn with his hand. The scruff of his 4am shadow on his jawline was very Don Johnson Miami Vice in the unforgiving LED lighting of the loading zone. I imagined it scraping along my inner thighs… after a shower and a nap.

“Ha! Sleep. You think this van unpacks itself?”

“Fuck me.”

“That’s right, Steel. Fuck you!” A man with a huge black gun stood in the open passenger door. He was terrifying. Bald. Angry.

The image of the gun pressed to Michael’s head wasn’t something I’d ever forget.

The man grabbed a handful of Michael’s shirt and yanked him through the open door. Michael went out fighting. He jammed his head back, slamming his skull into the guy’s face.

“No!” The word tore from my throat. I started to climb over the center console and go after Michael. I had to save him. Help him.

A hand clamped down on my arm, hauling me out the driver’s side. I tried to hold on to the steering wheel, determined not to be dragged out of my van. The fight was short lived.

My ass slammed down on the pavement a moment later. Pain shot up my tailbone.

The man that stood over me was almost as big as Michael. He wore a black leather vest with patches across the chest, dirty ripped jeans, and steel-toed boots. He picked me up like I weighed nothing, carried me around to the other side of the van, and shoved me down on my knees.

Michael and the bald guy were circling each other about six feet apart. Blood streamed from the bald guy’s nose. It coated his lips and teeth, making the snarl on his face look demonic.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Coyote. I didn’t send anyone after you.” Michael moved in controlled sideways steps, knees bent, hands out in front of him. He looked ready to strike.

“Bunch of fucking Mexican gang bangers. They said one of my people did their boss dirty in Cuba. I knew it had to be you. Should have offed you as soon as Smith had your loyalty.”

“I’d never—”

“Stop your bullshit.” Coyote jutted his bloodied chin at me.

I gasped. Behind me, the biker had grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked me half up off the ground. The pain made tears fill my vision. I clambered to my feet to relieve the pressure.

“Don’t fucking touch her.” Michael’s voice was ice cold. He’d pivoted, his attention split between me and Coyote.

“I’m going to give her to the recruits when I’m done with you. She’s a little old for those boys, but they don’t care as long as it’s got a cunt.”

Michael took a few steps toward Coyote. He softened from his battle stance, his shoulders rounded, and his hands hung at his sides. He looked defeated.

Oh shit. He was giving up to save me.

“Coyote. Leave her out of this. I’ll go quietly.” Michael sounded desperate, almost panicked.

“Michael. Stop. Don’t.” The words tumbled out. They were more sobs than actual commands. The guy holding my hair used his other hand to take my upper arm in a punishing grip.

“It will be okay, Sabrina. They are here for me.” Michael didn’t turn in my direction. He’d closed the distance between him and Coyote.

“Yeah, we can make a trade if you come politely.” Coyote wiped blood from his chin with his forearm. He’d used the hand holding the gun.

What happened next, I only fully understood because there was a security camera recording the loading zone. Quinn showed me the tape later. She had to put it in slow motion for me to see.

Michael pounced on Coyote in a move so fast it was a blur. The blade of a small paring knife he’d been using all night to cut lime wedges glittered in the LED security lighting for a millisecond before slashing through Coyote’s throat.

Coyote was taken completely by surprise; he’d had no time to raise the gun or turn away from the impending attack. He fell to his knees, and his weapon clattered to the ground.

Michael scooped it up and turned in a single fluid motion to aim it at the biker holding me. He slipped the small knife into the pocket of his vest where it had been all evening, freeing both hands to grasp the gun.

“You want to die for this?” Michael used the toe of his black shoe to poke Coyote’s limp body. A pool of blood had already formed and was growing. It trickled toward a storm drain.

“Ah, chill man. Just chill. I’m going.” Hands up, the biker took a few steps backward, then spun and ran. His boots echoed on the pavement as he raced around the corner of the building.

Michael lowered the gun.

We crashed together, arms around each other. Our lips met in a messy, uncoordinated kiss that was all passion and no technique. If I could have climbed inside his chest and held his heart in my hands, I would have just to be sure it was still beating.

Behind my closed eyelids, the image of the gun pressed to his head replayed in slow motion and full color. My own personal horror movie.

The tears running down my face flavored our kiss. I dug my non-existent nails into his back. I wanted to carve my name into his skin. He was mine.

Breathless, we broke apart. I buried my head in the curve of his neck. The scratchy polyester of the black vest he wore did nothing to sop up my free-flowing tears. I took a ragged, soul-cleansing breath and stepped back.

“Never do that to me again.” I crossed my arms around my middle to keep from reaching for him. “I thought you gave up. You aren’t allowed to do that. You stay brave, I stay brave.”

“Okay. Understood.” He was tucking the gun into his waistband.

“No, I don’t think you do.” I tipped my head back; the stupid security lights burned my tear-swollen eyes.

“Explain it then.” He was taking his cell phone out of his pocket.

It wasn’t the right time to do or say this. But fuck it, we’d make it work.

“I love you,” I shouted at him, my hands planted on my hips, my chin jutted out. Something almost like rage coursed through my veins.

He froze, his phone in one hand, his finger poised to tap the screen. Probably calling 9-1-1. He blinked at me, waiting for me to say more.

The words flowed like water gushing from a burst pipe.

“I know this is the wrong time to,” I waved my hands wildly, looking for the right words, “declare my feelings. But after seeing that, I had to tell you. I want you. I want us. I would give anything for another day with Hailey, another day loving her. Why should I waste days of loving you because I fear what I’m feeling?”

I exhaled. The rage that had fueled my outburst transmuted into pure bliss. Not telling him I loved him had been denying what was happening between us. I should have told him days ago. When he had been shirtless bartending at my mom’s, or at the beach on Christmas, or any of the last few nights when we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

“You are right. Time won’t change us. I love you.” He shoved his phone away and took me back into his arms.

“I could have lost you,” I whispered as I collapsed into the embrace.

It was the most amazing of his amazing hugs to date.

“Siren, you’re stuck with me now.”

I buried my face in his chest and listened to the beat of his heart. He stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head. I squeezed him tight to enjoy one more moment of calm before the ramifications of what had happened tonight set in. I wasn’t worried about telling Michael I loved him. It was the dead man ten feet away that had me concerned.

We broke apart slowly. My eyes fluttered open and unfortunately, the first thing I saw was the trickle of blood oozing toward the storm drain. I longed to step back into his arms and hide from real life for a few more minutes.

He already had his phone out.

“Nine-one-one?” I asked.

“Yeah, then Smith. He’ll want to run interference.”

“What can I do?” I sounded exhausted.

“Come here.” He pulled me to his side, one arm around me. “Stay at my side. That is more than enough for now.”

I was close enough to hear the emergency dispatcher ask him the nature of his emergency.

As he gave her the Clif’s Notes version of the situation, I focused on him—the unimportant details. The sheen of sweat on his forehead, his white knuckles clutching the phone. The tight, stiff way he held his shoulders.

He was scared.

He hung up with 9-1-1 and called Smith.

“I killed Coyote.” Michael didn’t even say hello or preface the information with any details.

“About time. Was it justifiable homicide?” Smith, assumedly asleep at 4am, hadn’t missed a beat. He’d instantly gone on defense for one of his people. I knew with the same certainty that the sun rose in the east he would keep Michael out of jail and make all this disappear.

I’d never been so grateful for the ex-spy. Not even when he gave me my life back.

“Yes, he had a gun. I had a fucking fruit knife. I already called the cops.” He squeezed my shoulder, and I leaned even closer to him.