Slate speaks up. “I would have preferred not to worry you, but you have a right to know what’s going on. Leaving you in the dark might put you in danger, and we don’t want that.”
“Well, I don’t like people I consider friends getting beaten within an inch of their lives because of me,” I deadpan back.
As Slate and I stand staring at each other, Rivera’s voice rises up from the chair. He sounds choked with emotion or pain—it’s hard to tell which. “Don’t look so fuckin’ forlorn, Christina. I’m tougher than I look.”
“No, you’re not,” the medic mutters, pressing gauze against a wound on his side. “When are you guys gonna get it through your heads that you’re not indestructible?”
Slate shoots back, “Pretty sure Rivera didn’t go lookin’ for trouble. Just patch him up, Stitch.”
“Okay, brother,” Stitch states.
I try not to tear up. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I can’t imagine what he hoped to gain by doing all that.”
His lips press into a thin line, and he gives Slate an exasperated look.
“Oh my God. He wanted you to tell him where I went, right?”
“Yeah, but he wasted his time. I didn’t tell him nothin’. He eventually ditched me along the side of the road, and that’s when I called to warn Slate that this tenacious ex of yours wasn’t givin’ up.”
“How did he even know that we were acquainted?”
Rivera shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “He saw me that day in the parking lot trying to get your attention. When you disappeared, he came lookin’ for me.”
“I wish you’d never gotten involved.”
“Well, I’m not sorry. If I hadn’t noticed you were in danger and called Slate to pull you out of there, it might have been youand your daughter that deranged fucker spent days abusing. I’d take a thousand beatings to keep you and your kid safe.”
“I don’t know how to thank you. I really don’t.”
“You can thank me by not getting back with the stupid fucker. He’s obsessed with you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I don’t want to go anywhere near him,” I tell him earnestly.
Rivera nods, settling back with a groan. “Then all’s well that ends well in my book.”
Suddenly, Rock’s voice comes from the doorway. “You said you told him nothing. Wanna elaborate on exactly what that fuckin’ looked like?”
I turn to see him leaning against the doorjamb with Queenie at his side.
Rivera whips his head around to look at Rock, and a slow smile spreads over his face. “You must be Slate’s old man. The two of you look just alike.”
Slate murmurs under his breath, “Only I’m younger, smarter, and better looking.”
Rock shoots Slate a dark look. “If you were smarter than me, your friend wouldn’t have gotten the shit beat out of him.”
Queenie quips, “Both of you need to stop playing around and answer your father’s question.”
Rivera lurches to his feet. “You want to know exactly what was said? I told him the fuckin’ truth—that I didn’t know where she went. That she’s someone I barely knew, and we don’t stay intouch. Eventually, he got tired of beating on me and turned me loose.”
“You saw his face, and that made you a loose end. Why didn’t he kill you?”
Rivera doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tightens. Slate looks at me, and I can see what he’s trying so desperately to hide.
“They wanted to see if he would call Slate,” I whisper. “That’s the only possible explanation. They saw Slate take me away on his motorcycle and thought I might still be with him.”
Slate’s voice is quiet. “That’s my thought as well.”
Rock gazes at Slate. “You realize he probably followed you back to our territory, right?”
