Viper and Wrench exit without saying a word. Although Wrench looks like he’s about to drink himself into oblivion.
“Better have him watched,” I tell Brody. “If our suspicions are right, he’s next. And have Zamara picked up at the garage. She might not be safe there anymore.”
“Is there no way I can convince you—”
I shake my head, preventing the rest of his sentence from coming out. Squeezing the back of his neck, he lets out an exasperated sigh and strides out of the room. I expect several guards posted at the garage by the end of the day.
The soft sliding of the door as it closes is the only sound between Bedlam and me. Not wanting to prolong the inevitable, I move toward him on shaky legs. I skirt around the table. All the arguments in the world vanish the second I get a whiff of the eucalyptus balm he uses. My resolve to talk some sense into him dissolves. I collapse against his chest and sob, all my fears and stress washing up to the surface. It takes him barely a second to wrap his arms around me and envelop me in his strength. He lets me cry until I have no tears left.
Chapter Twelve
BEDLAM CUPS my cheek and uses his thumb under my chin to tilt my face up. I meet his serious, quiet gaze with a watery stare. He moves his thumb to the underside of my eye and lets the gauze soak up my tears. I blink and more tears fall.
“Why is this happening?” I ask, resting my fists against the broad expanse of his chest.
He shakes his head before he says, “What I do know is you’re the target.”
“How can you be so sure?” I thump one of my fists where I feel his steady heartbeat. “For all I know you’re the one killing everyone off.”
The hurt in his eye immediately brings on a fresh wave of tears. “If I wanted you dead, you would be dead, love. It’s as simple as that. You know I don’t play games.”
The conviction in his words drives the dagger of guilt even deeper into my gut. In seconds I will be bleeding out and there will be no hope for survival. Bedlam wears his truth for all to see.
“I’m sorry,” I say around a sob. “I just don’t know what to think anymore.”
“Then don’t.” His hands encircle my waist. In a quick pivot, he has me seated on the edge of the long table. He pushes his way between my thighs and pulls me forward so my center is flush against his hardness. Using his forefinger, he adjusts the bandages on his face and frees his scarred lips. Not waiting for me to register what he’s doing, he bends down and takes my mouth in an earth-shattering kiss.
Snaking my hands over his shoulders to lock behind his neck, I shudder when my breasts crush against him. I moan in frustration at the gauze covering his head, my fingers instinctively clawing for his hair. Keeping his hands on my waist, he rubs soothing circles around my hips with his thumbs. My frustration quickly turns into molten desire. I open my mouth and allow his tongue in, coaxing mine into a familiar dance with gentle strokes. Breathing in his eucalyptus scent instantly brings a reprieve from my confused thoughts. No matter what is going on in my life, Bedlam’s solid presence anchors me in place. I’m not going anywhere when he’s around, and that scares some sense into me.
Unlocking my hands from behind his neck, I move my palms to his shoulders and push. Noticing that my lips have gone slack, Bedlam eases, but not far. He only gives me enough space to search my face for what’s wrong.
I swallow, then ask, “What’s this?” I point at him, then at me. “Between us?” His kiss-swollen lips distract me from hearing what he says properly. I blink. “Excuse me?”
“There’s no one else,” he repeats, not losing any of his seriousness.
“But I—”
His nod cuts me off. “For me there’s no one else.”
“Bedlam.” Head bowed, I lean forward until my forehead rests on the line of his collarbone. “You and me….”
“You’re the only one who thinks that,” he answers my unspoken meaning.
“But it’s true.” This time I’m the one searching his gaze, and he’s not kidding around when he stares down at me. “How will this work when I’m planning on doing everything I can to beat you and Ace this year?” Because everything keeps coming back to racing.
A corner of his lips twitch. “I’ve seen the interview. You ready to kill me to win? Because that’s what you need to do in order to get to Ace.”
“You know how much winning the Impulse Cup means to me. What I may or may not feel for you doesn’t matter.”
Instead of hurt, I get humor in his gaze. “You really think so?”
“Bedlam.” His confidence is killing me. My heart is both elated and in pain. “You can’t make me choose between you and racing. You will definitely lose.”
He must have seen something in my eyes because he vacates his spot between my legs. I ignore the chill the absence of his body leaves behind. There’s nothing wrong with my decision. He’s as passionate about racing as I am. He should understand. For this I am not guilty.
Taking my hand, he tugs me off the table. When I land on my feet, he leads me out of the room, adjusting his bandages so his lips are covered once more.
“Where are we going?” I ask when we reach the hallway.
“I’m taking you home,” he says over his shoulder.
Instant ease relaxes my tight muscles. My mind immediately lists everything I must accomplish when I reach the garage. I have to brief my team of the developments. Surely they already know some of what’s going on. Chicane’s discovery in my bed puts a kink on how we will approach the IC.
In the elevator cab barreling to
