“We listened to a lot of classic rock.” Reece tosses medical supplies into his backpack and adds, “We only have a few minutes before backup arrives.”
I position the tip of my knife at the motherfucker’s cheekbone. “Brother, kick us off.”
“Just a small town boy…” he begins, the lyrics altered.“Livin’ in a lonely world…”
The ballsack howls and struggles beneath me as I carve into his worthless flesh. He arches his neck in agony, and I snag the corner of his lip.
“You ruined my masterpiece, cuntmuffin.” I place a knee on his forehead to keep him still while I finish the jagged letter ‘D’. “Now, I have to start over.”
I bet Jackson would love this. I glance at my brother and, sure enough, he has his phone out, filming. I’m no psychiatrist, but revenge and violence can be quite therapeutic—and Jax is going to need it if these sick fucks sent him any taunting pictures of this jail cell.
“Just two city boys,” Des sings louder.
I join in, confident of the next part. “Born and raised in Staten Island!”
Reece scoffs but slides in on the coming lyric, and the four of us drown out the pussy’s whining.
Facial injuries are so messy, and blood drips from his nose and chin onto the nasty floor. I’m certain there’s sufficient body fluids and evidence in this basement to keep crime scene investigators busy for years.
I yank the little bitch’s hair, flipping his head to the other side as we drag out that high note. “Searchin’ in the night!”
After I finish the ‘R’ and hastily cut ‘Rapist’ into his chest, I assist him up the stairs. He stumbles on the steps and collapses face-first, unable to extend his hands to catch himself.
Jesus, I need a cigarette.
“Seriously? You’re the worst criminal.” I pick him up by his belt and add a wedgie to his humiliation. “Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind and dismember you.” I boot him in the ass. “Don’t forget to tell all your fucked-up friends it was Dante Rossi who got you looking pretty.”
Chapter 25
Ethan
Ipull into the underground parking garage, find an open space, and kill the engine. Silence falls heavy between us, and we both stare out the windshield. I’d hoped never to see this hospital again.
In the passenger seat, Jackson’s knee bounces. He’s been a wreck since we learned Charlie—or Lucas, as we’re told he prefers—was kidnapped, rescued, and admitted to the same unit Reece was only a few weeks ago.
My body sinks into the soft leather, utterly spent. I’m drained, but even in my exhaustion, I know Jax feels a hundred times worse.
He hasn’t slept. He has been a zombie, focused on getting home and avoiding the media. How they associated Hugo and Kyle—and Jax by extension—to the latest raid on Skid Row is anyone’s guess.
I place my hand on his thigh. “This isn’t your fault. You know that, right?”
“Of course it’s my fault.” He swallows hard, his throat clicking, and hangs his head. “None of this would’ve happened—to any of you—if it wasn’t for me.”
“Look at me.” I cradle his face and lift his haunted gaze to meet mine. “Wechooseto be with you, every day. I’d choose you in every lifetime, a thousand times over, no matter what.” His eyes shimmer, and I press my forehead to his. “I love you. Your fight is my fight, baby boy, and we’ll get through this.”
Christmas in New York can’t arrive fast enough.
We exit the elevator to the ICU. Agents and officers, men and women in various uniforms, flank the corridor. Their hushed conversations come to a standstill, and I feel the scorching heat of their stares on us—or rather, on Jax.
I straighten my posture and lace our fingers together. Let them have something new to gossip about.
The double doors at the end of the hall open, and the clickety-clack of fast-approaching heels captures everyone’s attention.
Bennett sweeps her narrowed gaze over every officer. “Don’t you all have somewhere to be?” she snaps, and the crowd swiftly scatters. “Come on, boys. We have work to do.”
Jax and I trade glances then hustle through the doors. They slam shut with an echoing thud, followed by an eerie silence, broken only by the rhythmicbeep-beep-beepof a monitor—a chilling soundtrack to the oppressive doom. Did I mention I hate this place?
She stops in front of a set of glass doors, the curtains drawn. “I asked Reece what you’d need,” she tells Jax. “He said Aurora and space. Your girl is inside, but unfortunately, I can’t give you space. This is the biggest raid yet. We’ve been searching for the cells.”
