I shook my head.
Mateo grunted. “I’ll get you one anyway. It’s the law.”
He left the area we’d commandeered since we’d got here and went outside, bypassing the vending machines to light up in the ambulance bay. I watched smoke plume from his mouth. Felt the acrid burn of his lungs.
Didn’t crave it, though. I didn’t need anything except this torture to fuckin’ end already.
How long has it been?
I didn’t know. Just that it was late now, and the A&E department was starting to fill up. Patients. Relatives. Coppers and paramedics. I didn’t keep track of them either. I kept my head down, brooding, my phone in my hand, waiting for Kara to tell me Willow and Nicky were safely home, the last message she’d sent left on Read.
Kara:Locke, I’m so sorry.
Like this was her fault. Like it was Willow’s. Like it wasmine.
Like it was Nash’s for saving my kids and Cam’s for following him into carnage without a single fuckin’ thought for himself.
Blame fate, my friend. It makes the worst things easier to walk away from.
Viktor’s voice in my head wasn’t entirely new. His note was in my pocket. I pulled it out, unrolling it, staring at the Cyrillic letters that made no sense to me, and yet I saw the effort he’d put into every word with his shaking hands. Fuck, I could still smell his damn blood.
Saint rose, taking me by surprise.
He disappeared. I jerked my head up in time for Orla’s boots to come into view.
Her legs.
Her waist.
Her torso as she came to me and finally her anxious face. “Have you heard anything?”
“No.” There was nothing in my voice. At this point, I didn’t know how my heart was still beating.
I shoved the note back into my pocket and guided Orla to sit beside me. “How’s Cam? Did he see Nash?”
She shook her head, clutching my hand, laser-focused on our tangled fingers. “He got tossed in the other direction. Knocked out cold until a fed brought him round. He’s got some stitches in the back of his head.”
“Concussion?”
“They don’t think so, but they’re making him stay another hour to be sure.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s shocked to shit,” Orla slid her gaze sideways. “I’ve never seen him like that.”
“I’m sorry, Orls.”
“What the hell for?”
“They’re my kids and they fucked up.”
Orla stood before I could stop her and moved to the vending machine, feeding coins into the slot, mindlessly pressing buttons.
She came back with chocolate and crisps that she dumped on the seat. “My brother is stupid and brave. Always has been. I spent my entire childhood believing there was no one else like him. Then Nash came along, obliterating that theory, and you know what? They’d have done what they did tonight for the kids of their worst fucking enemy, and there’s no part of me that wants to change that.”
“You’d have done it too.”
“Are you calling me stupid, Locke?”
