“Sure,” I lie, “you?”
Sam pulls back and she looks up. “Are you okay?’”
“Sure,” I say, anything but.
Be honest and open up, I tell myself.Grow the fuck up.
“Kind of.”
“What?” Samantha asks, holding me.
“William called. Tusk is sick.”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry. How bad?”
I look away, wet-eyed and I stare over Manhattan and Central Park. My teeth grind down hard, and I crush my molars. I then look at the sun. I seek energy, and I do not care it is burning my eyes.
A tear falls, and I loathe myself for being weak.
“Oh, honey.”
Sam wraps her arms around my neck, and she holds me close. “Oh, baby.” Seconds later, she whispers close, “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
He will not, and they are coming for him. Like they came for my family.
“Want to go now?”
I nod.
I thrashthe Jaguarfast out of Manhattan and along Central Park. The old English engine screams, and the sound echoes through the sleepy streets.
It is Saturday, and no one is up yet. Just as well, because I cut corners, giving zero fucks. I also ignore every red light. Sam says nothing, but she holds on for her life.
I get the Jag sideways, and soon the city is sleeping behind us.
Finally, we are out of the city, in one piece, and we head north. As the sun rises over New York City in the distance, I hit my cell.
William answers fast. “Get them to repeat the tests,” I say coldly. “We’re on our way. Get them to test anything and everything three times. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Rubbing my neck, I sigh and calm. “Any updates?”
“No, sir, he just looks tired, and at times, he just rolls around, growling.”
“In pain?”
“No, Sir. Sanders said he was, and his words, not mine, up to his eyeballs with painkillers. Enough to level a bull elephant.”
I sniff and sound like a robot. “Thanks. Hold the fort. We’re on our way.”
I hit the cell and lift my collar. It’s cold, but the discomfort is welcome. I need to embrace it, or I will get softer and softer.
I have a small family now. I know I have to protect them, and nothing will get in my way.No more death!
Sam reaches over and holds my thigh. She has learned fast today not to try and hold my gloved gear-changing hand.
I am basically racing the near track-ready old English sports car.
