“Let’s bring the food back. I don’t feel like sharing you with a restaurant full of people.”

I called in our order and gave the restaurant Jake’s credit card number, and since our food wouldn’t be ready for twenty minutes, we decided to walk. It was a beautiful night, cool for early summer, and the cloud cover had lifted, so if we’d been anywhere but the middle of the city, we could have seen the stars. Not that I knew what any of them were. But suddenly I missed the suburban sky view I’d grown up with, because as I walked next to Ian on the sidewalk, I realized I hated the city.

But that wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t the city itself I hated. It was how much of Jake Tower I found represented on the west side, everywhere I looked. His sentries stood on most corners of the main drag. He owned several apartment buildings and businesses. And everywhere I turned I found another arm bared to show tattooed chain links.

They all knew me, even the ones I couldn’t have named for my life, because for years, I’d been at Jake’s side, responsible for his safety and elevated by the job. And they all knew those days were over.

I could feel them staring. A few looked sympathetic—no one wanted to be on Jake’s shit list—and that was almost worse than those who gloated, pleased by my fall.

Ian could tell I was tense, and he tried to distract me with small talk, but I couldn’t relax, and being with him made that even harder. I wanted to touch him, but I was hyperaware that anything we were seen doing would be reported to Jake, who would either understand that we’d excised him from our relationship—which would piss him off—or misinterpret the reports as me seducing Ian on his behalf. Which would piss me off.

Finally the restaurant appeared in front of us. Inside, we had to wait for several minutes before the hostess handed me a receipt to sign, then exchanged it for a thick paper bag with twisted twine handles and an embossed logo. I resisted the urge to stick my head inside the bag and inhale the scent of beef grilled with onions.

Ian looked like he wanted to do the same thing.

Outside again, we headed for the alley behind the restaurant, intending to return to the apartment through the shadows so the food wouldn’t get cold. But the minute I stepped into the alley I knew something was wrong.

I stopped, one hand clenching the bag handle, the other groping at my waist for a gun I wasn’t yet allowed to carry. I reached for Ian’s arm to warn him silently, but before I could, someone grabbed me from behind and hauled me away from him, nearly jerking me off my feet.

I grunted in surprise, and Ian spun toward us, but before he could reach for me, someone stepped between us, gun—plus silencer—pointed at the ground, but ready to take aim at either of us in an instant.

Cam.

I dropped the food bag and started to twist away from the hands holding me, but before I could, my right arm was released and something cold and sharp was pressed against my throat, just beneath my jaw.

Shit. Another alley and another knife fight. A blade at my throat could spill my blood and sever my vocal cords in one stroke—a silent death, in the middle of my own territory.

“Mr. Holt, no one needs to get hurt here, and if you come with us now, no one will,” Cam said. “But you should know that if you refuse, my associate has instructions to kill Kori in an effort to motivate you. Should you still refuse, we have instructions to kill you, as well.” Because like Jake, Ruben Cavazos didn’t want someone as powerful as Ian working for his enemy. “I’m sorry, Kori,” Cam said, and I could hear the strain in his voice.

I shrugged his apology off. He was the foot soldier, not the commander, and I could certainly sympathize. And it’s not like I’d never been threatened with death before.

“Liv…?” I called softly, moving my throat as little as possible, because of the blade pressed against it.

“Ruben rarely makes the same mistake twice. Unless it’s a mistake he enjoys,” said a female voice with a familiar Hispanic accent. Anger flared inside me when Michaela Cavazos stepped out of the shadows next to a large Dumpster, and I understood how they’d gotten into the west side without being spotted. Cam had tracked us, probably waiting for us to leave the hotel, and Meika was a Traveler. She was also Ruben Cavazos’s wife.

Fuck. Without Olivia, who was obligated to help if I asked her to, we were screwed.

“I didn’t know Ruben ever let you off your leash,” I snapped, but Michaela only shrugged.

“It’s a very long leash.”

“Your husband still fucking every bitch with a gap between her thighs?”

Another shrug, like she didn’t care, but I could see the truth in her eyes. In the perpetually angry line of her jaw. “He sets them up, I knock them down,” she said, and my temper burned hotter. She wasn’t kidding.

I owed Michaela Cavazos a knife to the gut, and the one currently pressed into my throat would do the job nicely.

“Holt?” Every muscle in Cam’s body was tense and ready for action.

“I’m not leaving her,” Ian said, looking straight at me, his hands open at his sides, his stance steady and confident.

Cam glanced at me in surprise, then back to Ian, and comprehension surfaced on his features, obvious even in the near darkness. “I understand,” Cam said. “But if you don’t go with Michaela right now, Stan will kill Kori, and I couldn’t stop him even if I were allowed to. Please go. I can’t do anything for Kori anymore, but you can.”