“No—” I start to argue, remembering the way she was just restrained in that fucking bed.
“She’ll be okay, Son,” he reassures me. “It’s not ideal, but she needs to be properly secured for transport. You’ll stay by their sides the whole time. They’ll be safe.”
I hate the idea of tying her down, but I nod before reluctantly fastening the strap over her legs and pulling it taut. Dad climbs over into the driver’s seat, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror before giving me a brief nod.
Asher climbs into the passenger side, slamming his door shut with a curse. His eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, exhaustion rapidly taking over his features. A medic—who looks to be in his early thirties—appears at the rear of the vehicle and instructs me to move up towards Collins’ head so he can start an IV on her as well. The moment the needle retracts from the catheter in her forearm and is secured, the vehicle is set in motion.
Lachlan calls Asher with instructions to follow the leading SUV to a private tarmac just outside of St. Louis. From there, Collins and Riley will be transported back to California where they’ll be cared for in a private facility.
“We’ll retrieve everyone from the safe house and meet you there.”
Right now, I truly don’t give a shit about anything other than Riley and Collins, but there’s one question burning on the back of my tongue.
“What about Guy? His body?—”
“Will be taken care of,” Lachlan says curtly.
I look at Riley, his skin so pale and mottled with cuts and bruises. Fury burns deep at the sight of his injuries, the life drained from the sweetest soul in the worst way possible. I reach over and brush my fingers over his curls, ignoring the dirt and dried blood. The contact grounds me. I then look to Collins, her face now wiped clean as well, and though she has more color in her cheeks than Riley, she somehow looks worse.
She’s too thin, and her eyes are sunken with deep purple bruising. Her lip is busted and her cheekbones are more prominent. Reaching out with my other hand, I brush it over the top of her head as well. Rage swells in my chest at the sight of her fading pastel strands now stained with the rusty color of dried blood.
“I hate that he’s dead,” I grit out, my voice low and barely controlled. I look up to where Asher sits as he gives me a barely perceptible nod, telling me we’re thinking the same thing.Punishment. Torture.Those opportunities are now gone. Guy is dead and now we have no choice but to move on and move forward.“I wish he were alive and lucid enough to feel every ounce of pain that I wish I could inflict upon him. I wanted him to fucking hurt. I’d want his eyes wide open so he could see the horns and forked tongue of the devil greeting him, forced to watch as his worthless heart is carved from his fucking chest.”
I don’t have a lot of control over the words that are tumbling from my mouth, but they don’t feel wrong. Running my hands over Riley and Collins’ matted hair, my conviction solidifies. I don’t regret killing him. Never fucking will. I will relish every damn day that I do get to wake up to my two great loves safely in my arms, knowing thathewill be the one rotting in a hole in the ground in some unmarked location. We will grow stronger while he turns to dust.
“I know that feeling too well, St. James,” Lachlan says after a pause, his accent thick and definitive, rough due to lack of sleep. “I’ll brief Callan; we’ll cover any trail Guy may have left behind, tying up any loose ends where he is concerned.”
“He’s some kind of higher-up in his community. A goddamned wolf in sheep’s clothing. How the fuck did he even manage to hide this from everyone?” I grumble more to myself. Looking to Asher I ask, “How are we going to cover this up?!”
“We’ll take care of it, Creed.”
“How?”
At the same time, Asher and Lachlan answer, “Money talks.”
It’s the same thing they told me weeks ago, only this time, Asher tacks on under his breath, “And so do nine-millimeter bullets.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
But I kind of like that plan better, actually.
“We’ll take care of it,” Lachlan reiterates. “Just focus on the healing of Collins and Riley. We will ensure that not even his worst demons can touch her,” he says, ignoring Asher’s comment.
He hangs up and the silence that fills the cab feels too heavy. The medic gives me a weird look that has my brows furrowing.
“What?” I ask when he opens and closes his mouth for the third time without so much a word.
“Apart from her soiled clothing, she’s…clean,” he says with an odd edge to his voice while changing out her saline bag. He checks both of their vitals again, before pulling a bag of what I’m certain is blood from a cooler. It’s confirmed when I spot ‘O Negative’highlighted in large, bold text on the front of the bag.
“She’s clean?” I ask, confused. I watch as he suspends the bag over Riley’s head and starts to sanitize and prep the tubes and lines.
“Yes,” he confirms, as he begins to check them over again, gloved hands probing Riley’s arm to find a vein. Riley doesn’t react when the needle pierces his skin, and I know this guy is just doing his job, but I’m about to snap both of his wrists when my dad barks my name.
I turn my eyes to him, and he gives me a warning glare in the rearview mirror. I want to argue, but this incessant little voice in the back of my mind is telling me that it’s not justified and to just let him finish his fucking job.
The medic clears his throat, looking more nervous than before and Jett fucking chuckles over the fact that I’m getting in trouble with my father.Asshole.
“I just find it odd that these two were kept in the same room, but her wounds were kept relatively clean. Everything about them. There are no agitated, jagged cuts, no signs of struggle, and the…cuts themselves were kept relatively clean. Apart from her most recent injuries, that is.” He says, his eyes darting to her shoulder that’s now wrapped in gauze.
