The Treasures of Saint Germain

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

Hayden felt Kinimaka’s body buffeted by shrapnel. She could barely breathe as his full weight pressed down upon her. Not a sliver of that glaring light shone through; she lay in a safe cocoon of darkness amid the mayhem. Time went by, and then the bulk was pulled off her. Hayden looked up into the dying day.

“Mano?”

Lauren fell to her knees. “He’s… he’s…”

“I’m okay,” came the rumble of his voice. “Battered, but okay.”

Hayden swallowed in relief, then sat up. The scene all around them was gory, the crates and oil drums devastated. Liquid leaked along the ground in streams and all manner of objects spilled from the crates. Smyth fell beside Lauren.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Kinimaka crawled up to Hayden. “Good to be alive.”

But then Hayden reached out, grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him close. Their eyes were inches apart, their noses brushing. She could feel the beat of his heart, the warmth of his skin, and the blood that trickled from his wounds straight onto hers.

“Stop saving me, Mano.”

“I don’t… I… I…”

“Get it through your head. We’re done. Stop hovering, following and shielding. It’s why I went to Dubai without you. To get some damn space.”

“I saved your life. I…”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Hayden knew then that there would never be a time as meaningful, as piercing as this. If she wanted clear of the Hawaiian then she would have to use this moment, this event which he’d clearly hoped would reunite their affections, to take it well beyond the point of no return.

“I don’t fuck rule followers, Mano. I only fuck the winners who break ’em.”

The Hawaiian stared in shock, in horror. Smyth and Lauren turned quickly away and Yorgi pretended he hadn’t heard a thing. Hayden dusted herself off and stood alone. Her eyes, misted with tears, surveyed the battleground.

“Get your asses into gear, guys. We ain’t done yet.”