“No,” Twain said. “I was drinking. I’m far from drunk.”
“Whatever the case,” I said. “I’m taking us back.” I’d also been drinking earlier in the night, but after the confrontation I was stone-cold sober.
Twain looked like he was considering fighting me on it, but then he rolled his eyes and flipped me the keys. “Take it away, Jeeves,” he said, hopping into the passenger’s seat.
I started the engine and pulled the Jeep down the street.
“Take the next right and follow it to the main road. There’ll be an entrance to the highway after a bit,” Twain directed.
Now that I didn’t have to worry about Sam or Mason, I refocused on Twain. “Dude, its been like two days. Why do you look like you just crawled your way out of the fifth circle of hell?”
Twain shrugged. “It’s Mexico,” he said, like that was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Alice poked her head up between us. “Um. Excuse me, but can you clarify something for me?”
“What?”
“Is this Twain? As in Twain Conrad, the other groomsman?”
Twain grinned back at her. “In the flesh, my dear.” He extended a hand which she took after a moment’s hesitation. “And I would have to assume that you are the lovely Alice Rhodes?”
“How do you know who I am?”
Twain leaned back in his seat and put his feet on the dash, lighting another cigarette. “Because, darling, I know just about everything and what I don’t know I can quickly find out.”
“Yeah, we all have the Internet,” I muttered, but neither of them acknowledged me.
“I thought you were sick or something,” Alice said. “Have you even been to the resort at all?”
“Just long enough to know that the real party was out here,” Twain replied. “And good god, what a party. Did you say its only been two days? Could have sworn it was at least three. Man, let me tell you, I—.”
“I have a question,” I said, cutting him off before he horrified Alice. “How the hell did you manage to stumble on us right in the nick of time?”
Twain shrugged. “I was in the bar, gambling in the back room. I came out just as the two of you were leaving. I started to catch up with you — the game wasn’t going too well — but then I heard those guys talking about going after you.”
“So you went and got your car…” Alice continued for him.
“Well, I got a car.”
I whipped my head around to glare at Twain. “A car? Are you telling me we’re driving a stolen car?” I demanded.
“Well technically you’re the one driving it,” Twain said.
“Christ,” I muttered. The Jeep wasn’t looking that great. Hitting those guys had left more than a little wear and tear on the hood and windshield. “I can’t drive a stolen car up to the resort.”
“Then here,” Twain said, pointing to the side of the road. “Park it there and we’ll call a cab to take us the rest of the way.”
I pulled it over and reluctantly left it. Twain lit up another cigarette and walked up and down the street while we waited for the cab, kicking trash and occasionally yelling at cats.
I sat down on a bus stop bench next to Alice. I wasn’t really sure what to say.
She sat staring at her hands, deep in thought. She got a crease right between her eyebrows when she had something on her mind.
“That bat move you pulled was pretty cool,” she finally said, breaking the silence.
I chuckled softly. “Yeah, maybe I’ll show you how to do it one day.”
“I’d like that,” she said. Then she moved closer to me and rested her head against my shoulder. She dozed off there, leaving me to watch Twain and wonder just how long this was going to last.
Once the adrenaline died down, she was going to come to the same conclusion that I did: We’d almost gotten killed tonight and it was all my fault.
14
Alice
I woke up at noon to a headache and the icy tendrils of fear still snaking through my veins. I’d dreamt of faceless men in tuxes destroying a wedding cake with baseball bats as opera dissolved into screams.
Last night had been a hell of a lot of fun. Hitting the bars and clubs with Mac, meeting all those crazy, interesting people, seeing the sights and sounds of the city outside of the bland safety of the resort. And that moment, on that dark street, when Mac’s lips hovered over mine. It might have been the best memory of the trip.
But somewhere along the line, we’d gone a step too far, gotten a little too comfortable. Or maybe we’d always been too comfortable, ignoring the dangers of exploring an unfamiliar city at night. I’d had something akin to blind faith in Mac, that as long as I was by his side everything was going to end up okay.
Which, I supposed, hadn’t been entirely inaccurate. We’d ended up coming out unscathed. But only by the insane stroke of good luck that was Twain.
Otherwise? If the crazy writer hadn’t come around the corner in that Jeep, howling and cursing? I’d never considered just how vulnerable, how soft and fragile and human, I was until my life was in serious danger.
It was only then that I could picture just how easy it would be to never leave Mexico alive.
Of course, Mac would have gone down first and probably not very fast. I pictured the way he’d immediately stood in front of me, his stature inflating, muscles bulging, voice deep and hard. The way he’d taken that bat from the kid was like a scene from a Hollywood movie. Even though I had been terrified, I could still remember the arousal I’d felt at the sight.
Then Twain had pulled up with his storm of chaotic energy, knocking the gang members aside like paper cups and screaming like an insane person. And Mac had used one powerful arm to press me to the wall, blocking me completely with his body, an unbreakable shield standing firm against a new threat. I’d felt safe in that moment, even as the world dissolved into chaos.
After Twain ferried us away, it had been a whirl of emotions that finally settled into exhaustion. I barely remembered Mac helping me to my room.
Wait. Mac had helped me to my room? The memory popped back into focus. The handsome face furrowed with concern, sneaking secret glances at me all the way back to the resort. I tried to label that expression, an unfamiliar one I’d never seen on his face.
It didn’t take long — he was nervous.
And he should be, I realized. His tryst with Mariana in the bathroom had nothing on last night.
I got out of bed and walked to my window, looked out over the resort as the thoughts wrestled in my head. I’d been too scared, too relieved last night. I’d feebly cracked jokes and told Mac that it was all all right. It was totally cool that we’d almost gotten murdered in a back alley in Tuzas.
But as the sun rose on reality today, it was increasingly clear that no part of last night had been okay. As hot as Mac had looked wielding that bat and as apologetic as he’d been afterward, he’d not only put the wedding in jeopardy, but my very life.
Anger built inside me and I clenched my fists. We could have been killed. I could have been kidnapped, could have disappeared into the night, never to be seen again. All because Mac wanted to sleep with Margot fucking Lorne.