could it hurt to sit in his truck and wait it out? If nothing else, maybe heâd get to the bottom of her story.
She waited impatiently by the door, watching the clock switch numbers. Brandy sat at her feet, ready to go. According to Sabelle, they had less than fifteen minutes to get out of there before the whole place was incinerated.
âHurry,â she said and stepped onto the landing without a backward glance.
Shaking his head, Ryan clicked his tongue for Brandy to follow and locked the door behind him.
S abelle felt Ryan following her all the way down the stairs. Outside, the storm raged in vengeance and she tried not to pin more importance on it than it deserved. But it was hard. It could be a storm and it could be the Sisters. Knowing what they planned for Ryan, it seemed wise to consider the latter. The storm could be a symptom of their anger.
They would know she was gone by now.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Ryan paused, muttering, âSomething smells rotten down here.â
Sabelle got a whiff of the pungent odor, too, but her sense of smell was something new and the only scent that mattered to her was the warm, masculine one that clung to Ryanâs jacket. She pressed her nose into the collar as he took her hand and the lead, turning right toward the pub instead of to the left and the parking lot where heâd found her.
His hand was warm against hers. She felt it from her fingertips to someplace low and deep inside her, a human reaction to his nearness that disconcerted and delighted her. Sheâd imagined it enough times, but sheâd never considered the impact of feeling.
They entered the pub from a door behind the bar with Brandy racing ahead. A hundred times sheâd seen Ryanâs family pub through his eyes, but sheâd never seen it through her own. Sheâd never imagined the taste of it. The air was thick and malty, sharp and sour all at once. The graying walls held memories of secrets shared by friends long gone. Framed pictures of Ryanâs relatives posing with people she didnât know watched her pass, judging her from their lofty positions.
High up along the front wall, stained glass in brilliant emerald and dusty rose filtered the streetlights and danced pastels over the long, smooth bar. Below them, hazy picture windows looked out on a deserted street where twinkling Christmas lights glimmered from every tree and pole she could see.
âItâs smaller than I expected,â she murmured.
Ryan gave her a questioning look but she didnât say more. The responsibility of the pub had always seemed such a huge burden for Ryan that sheâd expected an echoing chamber instead of a cozy niche. Her steps faltered as she stared at the empty tables and chairs, knowing soon theyâd be rubble and ash. Ryan tugged her hand.
âDid you forget weâre about to be incinerated?â
Not something to joke about, but heâd figure that out on his own. Pack on his back, Ryan took a few steps toward the exit and stilled. He sniffed the air again.
âFuck,â he breathed. âThatâs gas.â
His accusing gaze swiveled toward her. The fury of the storm amplified the silence inside the bar as the moment stretched. Hail began to pelt the walls and sidewalk. It battered the roof and bombarded the windows.
Ryan cursed again and moved to the door, Sabelleâs fingers firmly clasped in his. She matched his stride, suddenly worried that sheâd gotten it wrong and theyâd run out of time. He had the key in the lock and the door opened in seconds.
âKeep your head down,â he said, shrugging out of the jacket he wore and holding it over them both. âGet closer.â
Dutifully, she obeyed, wrapping her arm around his waist to anchor her to his side.
âBrandy, come,â he ordered as they stepped onto the sidewalk. Brandy didnât look too keen on the idea, but she scooted out and stayed