I hear the sound of my heels clicking on the marble floor and continue quickly toward the bar. I don’t have any alcohol wipes in my purse and my throat is too tight. Add to that the torrent in my stomach and if I don’t get a lemon in the next two seconds, I’m going to lose it.
The people around me register as noise. I don’t know anyone, I don’t see anyone. I’m engulfed in my own personal hell that hovers around me like a cloud. As I step into the bar, a hand lands on the crook of my arm and yanks.
My reaction is instant. I whirl around with my fist already balled, throwing all my weight into the swing with my arm. The man catches my fist in his palm and holds it for a second.
“Avery, calm down. Where the hell did you go? I need to get you out of here.” It’s Gabe. I can’t calm down enough to let out a sigh of relief. My entire body is strung tight and ready to pop.
I nod at him and he lowers my arm to my side. “Come on. Back to Black’s before this mess gets bigger.”
I snap out of my stupor and shake my head. “No, I need to go here.” I hold up Sean’s card and Gabe plucks it from my fingers.
People move about us, murmuring about the dead woman in the Ferro suite. I hear their voices, and can’t block them out. “The man is a monster. They should just shoot him,” one woman says sternly as she walks by in a hurry.
A man passing in the other direction is grinning deviously, “That’s one way to get out of paying, huh? I always heard Ferro was a cheap bastard.”
The comments barrage me, and don’t stop. Each wave of insults is worse than the last. They hate him—everyone thinks he did it and Sean wasn’t even in the room.
My lips press together in a twitchy way as I regain my composure enough to act. I spin on my heel to grab the asshole’s shoulder and tell him off, but Gabe sees the movement and stops me before I have the chance.
His hands land on my waist and he yanks me away. I want to turn and claw his face off. I’m fuming. It feels like someone ripped me open from sternum to navel, and I can’t tell if I want to fight back or lay down and cry. “Stop it, Miss Stanz. Do not draw more attention to yourself.” Gabe hisses in my ear. “I’ll take you to this place, if this is where you want to go, but we leave now. No comments. You don’t know a damn thing, and if you tackle someone, I swear to God that I’ll taser your ass and throw you in the trunk. Got it?” The old guy is puffed up like he means business.
Attacking assholes won’t help Sean, so I nod. I didn’t expect Gabe to comply so easily, but I’m not about to ask questions. He releases me, I follow him out a side door, and we shove past a mob of people trying to get inside. Reporters look at us and some flashes go off, but then they realize that we’re nobodies and drop their cameras to their sides. The chatter begins again and I hear more of the same. They’re condemning Sean and growing into a frenzy. I hear someone say that Amanda’s death was unnecessary and now this.
I turn and look at the guy. We make eye contact, but Gabe holds onto my arm and pulls me away. I don’t speak, but I wonder—what kind of life would Sean have had if Amanda hadn’t killed herself and taken his only child? His personal hell is expanding, and this event will make it so much worse.
After Gabe deposits me in the back seat, he jumps in the limo, and we’re off. We make it through the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel and back onto Long Island quickly. I stare out the window, watching lights blur by, lost in thought.
Gabe finally speaks up, “Where were you?”
Glancing up at the mirror, I look into his old eyes. “Not in the room, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t do this and neither did Sean. We were in the restaurant.”
He nods and grips the steering wheel tighter. “I noticed the rock on your finger. People saw you two?”
“Yeah, they saw us.” My voice is soft and my shoulders finally relax. I feel like a deflating balloon that was smacked too many times.
“Good, then this shouldn’t lead back to Black.”
I glance up at him and know—call it a gut instinct—that he’s wrong. This will lead back to Miss Black, and possibly everyone else. My lips part as my gaze narrows. The words don’t come out of my mouth, but he watches me. The old guy sees everything and I’m still an open book, unable to hide the thoughts rushing through my mind. The worry line between his eyebrows deepens. “Spit it out, kid. You’re thinking something, and if it affects all of us, you have to spit it out.”
I only say two words, but he knows what I mean. “The bracelet.”