I slap a hand to Rory’s chest before he throws the punch I know he wants to. “Not here,” I mutter. “Take her to the truck.”
Rory’s got murder on his face, but he takes one look at our Queen, her teary gaze centered on him in a silent plea. He obeys, grabs her hand, and tugs her along. Briella tries to follow, but she’s shaking so much, it exacerbates her limp. Rory scoops her up like nothing and stalks toward the parking lot. Her head rests against his shoulder.
I turn back. The blonde man is gone. But I catch a flash of that coat heading for the far exit.
I slap a hand on the cashier’s counter. “Start ringing everything up. I’ll be right back.”
Outside, the sky’s turned to night. Cold bites at my neck.
I follow him into the lot. He’s almost at his car when he reaches into his coat. I move fast. Real fast.
I snatch the phone out of his hand before he can unlock the screen and shove it into my pocket. I’ll deal with the SIM card soon.
He whirls around, furious. “What the hell?—”
I press him up against his car door with one arm across his chest. Calm. Cold. “Name,” I demand.
His haughty lips pinch. “Doctor Nathan Reddick.”
Shit.
“And I’d advise you,” he continues sourly, like spoiled milk, “to use the utmost caution with Gabriella. She is not well.”
“She’s very well,” I state. “And she’s taken care of.”
His lips twist. “She belongs with her family at Easthaven Care Center. The police still have a warrant for her arrest. She stabbed an orderly in the neck, you know. Killed him. But Prophet Alden—he’s a merciful and reasonable man. He spoke with the governor. Arranged for her to be brought back for help instead of prison.”
The veins in my forearms bulge, throbbing with the need for violence.
“You’re mistaken,” I tell him. “Like she said, one of those faces. And she dyed her hair for the holidays.”
“She has a limp,” he points out quietly. “If she has all the help she needs, why does she limp?”
My jaw locks. “Itriedto be reasonable. I only have one question left.”
“What?’ He sneers.
“Are you ambidextrous?”
“No.”
I take his right hand. Fingers splayed in protest. No hesitation. I break his wrist.
The scream echoes through the lot.
One by one, I bend his fingers back until the cartilage pops and the knuckles split. He collapses against the car, gasping, cradling his mangled hand.
I pull the cap from his other hand. “You come near her again,” I warn, “I won’t be somerciful.”
I glance at the license plate. Commit it to memory. Raphael will know what to do. Then I turn, walk back inside, pay for the damn tree and every ornament Briella picked out, and meet them both at the truck.
I give her the cap. Rory helps me load up the truck bed, then I gun the engine.
“Did ye kick his teeth in?” asks Rory, fist clenched against the truck side.
I shake my head. “No. But I made sure he can no longer use the titleDoctor.”
Briella gazes up at me. The emotion there. It rips me open, reaching into old scars. But it’s not horror there. It’s gratitude. Nothing I’ve ever seen the likes of.
