Alabama’s heart swells. To her, Sal’s words carry redemption, normality, forgiveness. She watches Luke and the group part, only to be approached by an eager crowd of people seeking autographs. A feeling of contentment elevates her soul. A feeling that everything’s going to be okay.
“Hey,” Griff says, stopping Alabama in the middle of the parking lot. “You ain’t too mad at me, are you?” He stares at her, his expression so hangdog and contrite that Alabama can’t even play pissed.
“Nah,” she says, sliding a hand up his chest. “Besides, you surprised me. Playin’ nice with Luke Kincaid.” She arches a brow. “Who’da thought?”
Griff glowers. “Ah, hell,” he says. “He can play a good game of pool. But I still don’t like the guy.”
Alabama laughs. “Uh-huh. Nice try, Greyson.”
That’s when, from somewhere behind her, Alabama hears soft footsteps whisking across the cement. The hair on the back of her neck prickles. She studies the parking lot.
Seth and Sal Kincaid, laughing about something.
Jace and Luke, scrawling autographs on the back of a fan’s T-shirt.
Still, a chill runs down her spine. It’s the same eerie feeling she had at the fountain, backstage in Baton Rouge, this entire tour.
She leans into Griff, her eyes watching the shadows. “Someone’s there, Griff.”
“It’s the Star,” he growls, surveying the buildings around them like he’ll personally detonate them himself. When his gaze lands back on Alabama, a wolfish grin appears on his face. “They want a show, hell, let’s give ’em one.”
He grasps the nape of her neck and hauls her into his muscled chest for a crushing kiss. His lips, hot on hers, have Alabama tangling her fingers in Griff’s hair, contouring her body to his.
At first, her only thought is the surrounding cameras, tomorrow’s headline, and then as Griff deepens the kiss, she lets it all go. She gives in, gives the kiss her all as a slight thrill sweeps her up. The thrill of the tabloids watching, the thrill of controlling her own narrative, has her heart sparking. She devours Griff’s lips, her body burning up with hungry need.
With a sucking gasp, they pull away.
Griff stares at her, fire and lust blazing in his eyes. “Front-page news.”
She laughs breathlessly and links her hand with his.
“C’mon, you ol’ renegade,” Alabama teases, taking a few steps off to the side. But Griff stays where he is, shouting something at Luke, and his hand leaves hers, breaking their connection.
That’s when, out of the corner of her eye, she sees a flash of blond.
Alabama’s body goes rigid.
Nikki’s emerging from behind a parked car, twenty feet from Griff, who doesn’t see her. She takes jerky steps toward him, her face twisted up into a look of something terrible, something violent and angry.
What Alabama sees next has her heart lurching.
A gun dangles in Nikki’s right hand.
It all happens so fast.
Nikki raises and aims the gun. At Griff’s chest.
“No!” Alabama cries, her ragged scream upsetting the night. And then she’s running, flying through the air.
Not Griff, is all Alabama can think. No no no pleasenot him. She sees it in Nikki’s face—she means to kill him. And Alabama will be damned if she lets Griff gets hurt. She can’t lose him. Not now. Not again.
The shot rings out.
Without hesitation, Alabama throws herself in front of Griff.
She barely glimpses his golden eyes widening in horror before she flattens herself against him. Before the bullet slams into her shoulder with red-hot ferocity.
The world topsy-turvies as she and Griff fall backwards to the ground.