Scarlet, did you even slow down or just keep on fucking?”
“Enough!” Killian’s voice cracked through the vitriol.
Silence.
Nervous energy resonated in the lull.
Lana raised her hand, ready to strike as she glared at him.
“That would be stupid, Lana.” Killian sat there unaffected. As if all the mud that Lana could sling would never stick, her opinion ineffectual.
Lana whirled on Scarlet as she stepped closer.
“And that would be suicidal.” The quiet of Killian’s voice was disconcerting. The steel thread running through carried all the violence. “We’re done. Since polite didn’t work. I’m going to go for blunt. Get the fuck out of my house. Now.”
Danger was tangible in the room. Common sense willed Lana to walk away.
Scarlet’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears as Killian reached for her. He pulled her into the safety and comfort of his embrace.
“Just as well.” Lana raised her chin in a final show of defiance. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
Quick footsteps carried her away, Killian’s driver following her to the door.
Jerricho didn’t watch her leave; the show was in the room.
His eyes were on Killian.
And Killian’s eyes were on Scarlet.
She might have sung to Jerricho, but right now, everyone was an outsider as Scarlet cupped her husband’s face as if to thank him.
“Let’s clear the table,” Killian called out to waitstaff standing nervously near the kitchen door. “There’s another course.”
Conversation returned to the room in degrees of murmurs.
“Lana always has been highly strung,” someone further down the table muttered.
“Ah, so that’s how she hits those high notes,” came a dry male response.
Some guests relaxed into laughter.
The woman sitting next to Scarlet stole furtive glances at Jerricho. It wasn’t the first time he had been outed in some way, and her opinion hardly mattered. He raised his glass to salute her and smiled.
***
There was a sudden crash of a plate hitting the floorboards, accompanied by a stifled scream.
Jerricho’s attention immediately snapped to the opposite end of the table. One of the guests, Mary Hall, was slumped in her chair, chin resting on her chest, unmoving.
Everyone moved to action and no one was doing anything productive.
“Joel, ambulance!” Killian called out to his driver as he got to his feet.
Jerricho reached the women’s side. “She’s choking.”
“Don’t you touch my wife.” Gregory Hall pushed him back.
Fear. Nothing Personal.
“Mr. Hall, helping Mary breathe is what’s important now, not waiting for the ambulance.” There was no point in sugar coating; he needed to be quick. A person could die in minutes from lack of oxygen. No one knew when Mary’s clock had started.
Panic. One look into Gregory’s eyes and Jerricho could tell there was no reasoning with the man.
Fuck it.
He pushed the husband roughly out of the way and pulled Mary forward. He raised his arm to thump her on the back when hands grabbed him.
“I’m a doctor. Get off—”
A piercing whistle from near the head of the table stopped the struggle.
Jerricho’s gaze followed the noise and met Killian’s calculated one.
An eternal second dragged on as the man measured him.
“Let the doctor work.” Killian nodded. “And get Gregory the fuck out of the way.”
His driver came up to him, phone still to his ear.
“How long?”
“Paramedics are closer and on their way.”
But Jerricho was no longer interested in anything else but Mary. He thumped her back for the third time. No luck. Whatever was lodged in her throat had rammed tight. She was going blue around the mouth. He could try the old-fashioned way and do the Heimlich, but time was his biggest concern. How long had she been choking? “Help me get her on the ground.”
Two men helped position Mary on her back.
Jerricho did a quick check of the airway; whatever was blocking it was far down and out of sight.
“Oh my God, she’s dead,” came a hoarse
“Enough!” Killian’s voice cracked through the vitriol.
Silence.
Nervous energy resonated in the lull.
Lana raised her hand, ready to strike as she glared at him.
“That would be stupid, Lana.” Killian sat there unaffected. As if all the mud that Lana could sling would never stick, her opinion ineffectual.
Lana whirled on Scarlet as she stepped closer.
“And that would be suicidal.” The quiet of Killian’s voice was disconcerting. The steel thread running through carried all the violence. “We’re done. Since polite didn’t work. I’m going to go for blunt. Get the fuck out of my house. Now.”
Danger was tangible in the room. Common sense willed Lana to walk away.
Scarlet’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears as Killian reached for her. He pulled her into the safety and comfort of his embrace.
“Just as well.” Lana raised her chin in a final show of defiance. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
Quick footsteps carried her away, Killian’s driver following her to the door.
Jerricho didn’t watch her leave; the show was in the room.
His eyes were on Killian.
And Killian’s eyes were on Scarlet.
She might have sung to Jerricho, but right now, everyone was an outsider as Scarlet cupped her husband’s face as if to thank him.
“Let’s clear the table,” Killian called out to waitstaff standing nervously near the kitchen door. “There’s another course.”
Conversation returned to the room in degrees of murmurs.
“Lana always has been highly strung,” someone further down the table muttered.
“Ah, so that’s how she hits those high notes,” came a dry male response.
Some guests relaxed into laughter.
The woman sitting next to Scarlet stole furtive glances at Jerricho. It wasn’t the first time he had been outed in some way, and her opinion hardly mattered. He raised his glass to salute her and smiled.
***
There was a sudden crash of a plate hitting the floorboards, accompanied by a stifled scream.
Jerricho’s attention immediately snapped to the opposite end of the table. One of the guests, Mary Hall, was slumped in her chair, chin resting on her chest, unmoving.
Everyone moved to action and no one was doing anything productive.
“Joel, ambulance!” Killian called out to his driver as he got to his feet.
Jerricho reached the women’s side. “She’s choking.”
“Don’t you touch my wife.” Gregory Hall pushed him back.
Fear. Nothing Personal.
“Mr. Hall, helping Mary breathe is what’s important now, not waiting for the ambulance.” There was no point in sugar coating; he needed to be quick. A person could die in minutes from lack of oxygen. No one knew when Mary’s clock had started.
Panic. One look into Gregory’s eyes and Jerricho could tell there was no reasoning with the man.
Fuck it.
He pushed the husband roughly out of the way and pulled Mary forward. He raised his arm to thump her on the back when hands grabbed him.
“I’m a doctor. Get off—”
A piercing whistle from near the head of the table stopped the struggle.
Jerricho’s gaze followed the noise and met Killian’s calculated one.
An eternal second dragged on as the man measured him.
“Let the doctor work.” Killian nodded. “And get Gregory the fuck out of the way.”
His driver came up to him, phone still to his ear.
“How long?”
“Paramedics are closer and on their way.”
But Jerricho was no longer interested in anything else but Mary. He thumped her back for the third time. No luck. Whatever was lodged in her throat had rammed tight. She was going blue around the mouth. He could try the old-fashioned way and do the Heimlich, but time was his biggest concern. How long had she been choking? “Help me get her on the ground.”
Two men helped position Mary on her back.
Jerricho did a quick check of the airway; whatever was blocking it was far down and out of sight.
“Oh my God, she’s dead,” came a hoarse
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