Right Kind of Wrong(42)

My grip tightens around the steering wheel as I stare ahead, my stomach suddenly feeling hollow and cold.

No.

This can’t be happening.

A bounty? My blood ices over with cold black dread.

From the corner of my eye, I see Jenna’s mouth fall open and my dread reroutes to other areas of impossible fear. Shit.

Shit, shit, shit. This is not how things were supposed to go down. Not with Jenna. Not with Samson. Not with Drew… oh, God.

I draw in a deep breath and glance at Samson. “And the Royals told you that?”

He nods heavily. “That’s why I got all messed up tonight. I went to Alec thinking maybe he could help—”

“Dammit, Sam,” I mutter.

“But he was just as surprised as me,” Samson continues. “He knew nothing about Drew being mixed up with the Royals—or about the Royals putting a price on Drew’s head—and I… I just panicked. Jonesy felt bad and poured me a few drinks, and I just kept drinking until it wasn’t real anymore.” He shakes his head and slurs, “It can’t be real.”

Angry fear spills into the hollow of my stomach. “I thought you guys were staying out of things, dammit. You said this wouldn’t be an issue if I left. You promised you wouldn’t get involved in Dad’s shit—”

“I didn’t! I swear,” Samson says. “And I didn’t know Drew was up to something of this caliber until I got that call tonight.” His eyes turn desperate. “The Royals think I know where Drew is—but I don’t! I have no fucking clue. And…” He grabs at his hair. “And if they find him, they’re going to—”

“I know!” I bark. “Just shut up for a second and let me think.”

Samson pulls back and slouches against the seat and I sneak a glimpse at Jenna. I can’t risk Samson’s drunk mouth spilling any more information about my family’s fucked-up situation. Jenna’s freaked-out enough as it is.

My drumming pulse roars in my ears as silence fills the car. If Drew’s mixed up with the Royals then all of this really is my fault. But how the hell did he manage to contact them without me? The Royals aren’t even based in Little Vail.

I slip my eyes to Jenna, who’s doing a decent job of pretending like she’s totally cool with everything that’s happened in the last thirty minutes by picking the purple polish off her fingernails, but I know better. She’s scared and she’ll surely have a lot of questions for me. I’m just afraid I’m not going to have any answers for her. At least none that she’ll like.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I say evenly as my gaze shifts to Samson in the rearview mirror. “I’m going to drop you off at Mom’s so you can crash and sober up. Then Jenna can take her car and head home”—I nod in her direction and Samson tips his chin at her in greeting—“while I go find out more about Drew’s business with the Royals.” I stretch my neck. “Then we can get this all sorted out.”

Maybe. The Royals putting a price on Drew’s head is basically an act of war, so the odds of this turning out well for Drew, or anyone else in my family, aren’t very good. But at least Jenna will be safe. She’ll be long gone before morning, happily at home with her family, where my troubles can’t reach her.

Glancing across the dark car at her profile, fear pricks the back of my neck.

“Are you okay?” I ask quietly.

She thinks for a moment. “Oddly, yes. Considering multiple guns were pointed in our direction just five minutes ago, I think I’m doing pretty damn good.”

I scrub a hand down my face. “God, I’m sorry. What happened back there… that wasn’t… I shouldn’t have—”

Samson groans. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

I snap my eyes to him. “Don’t you dare vomit in the car.”

“Then quit taking turns at high speeds,” he complains. “Being drunk is hard.”

Jenna shakes her head and looks at me. “Let’s talk after we drop him off, okay?”

I press my lips together, both grateful and worried that she’s taking the night’s events so well.

Across the car, she sits cross-legged, with her graceful arms resting against her thighs and her hands tucked in her lap, and the soft glow from the dashboard instruments highlighting the curve of her cheekbone and the length of her neck. She reminds me of good things, happy things.

I can’t get her out of this town fast enough.

Looking at the time, however, I start to rethink my plan. It’s almost midnight and New Orleans is a good two hours away. Jenna’s no doubt exhausted, and her night vision isn’t great even when she’s well rested. Her driving home alone tonight probably isn’t the best idea. Not that she would agree. I inwardly sigh, knowing what’s coming.