“Thank you, New York State.” Cheers and applause thundered. Lights flashed. “I couldn’t have done this without you. The volunteers and voters who made this night happen…”

Jenny watched as he moved through the rehearsed words. She’d memorized it too. Knew when people would laugh. Expected when the crowd would nod. It was almost over. She and Asher stood on a stage, sitting like targets for Maxwell. But nothing.

Asher delivered his final line, and it was a home run, as she’d known it would be. The crowd began to chant. The balloons fell. Hundreds. Maybe thousands of patriotic-colored balloons fell from the ceiling. Silver, shimmering confetti mixed in. The lights blinked and flashed a spectacular light show.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. And Asher was on her arm again, leading her through the crowd.

Congratulations and shouts of support began all over again. The crowd overwhelmed her. People stepped on her shoes. Clapped on her back. Said things to her like they were old friends. And then the familiar face of Maxwell Bowie was inches from her nose. Smiling. Clapping. Reaching for her.

“Asher!”

He faced the other direction, still holding on to her hand. Her grip tightened, and her nails dug into his flesh. Everything turned to slow motion. Her words became heavy and slow. Asher turned, like in the movies, but her hand fell away. Hard hands took her elbows, and she was off her feet and moving away from Asher. Away from Maxwell.

“Move. Move. Move.” The voice bellowed from behind her.

Rocco. Titan.

“Asher!” Why had Rocco pulled them apart?

A collective gasp rolled behind her. Chaos and confusion bubbled. She tried to turn her head and see what was happening. The overhead lights turned on. And the music stopped. She could hear people rushing out of the room. What the hell was happening?

As Rocco rounded a corner, she could see several men piled together, as if they’d been tackling Maxwell or protecting Asher. Or guarding him? Had he been hurt? What had Maxwell done?

Jenny thrashed in Rocco’s arms. “Let me go! Where’s Ash?”

They entered a hallway behind the stage, and he carried her to a back room. Finally, he put her down, and she turned, ready to scream. Rocco’s face had blood on it. His shoulder. His hands.

“Christ,” he growled, scrutinizing his arm, then flicked his wrist to his mouth. “Tassels is secure.” Blood poured down his arm, and he dropped it.

She’d only heard them reference her codename once. But the ridiculousness of it paled in comparison to Rocco’s arm wound. “You need help. Tell them you’re hurt.”

He growled and felt around on his chest. “Does hurt like a mother bear, that’s for sure.”

Rocco’s breaths wheezed. Was it his chest too? God, there was a lot of blood. “You need help.”

“Not a chance.”