Speaking of which, I’ve had several missed calls from both of them.
I mount the stairs to fetch Dozer when I call Brew back.
“You okay? Heard about the shoot out,” he says the second he picks up.
“I’m fine. Got Payden.”
“Thank Christ.”
“She’s pretty shaken up. The entire office was slaughtered, bro. It was a fuckin’ massacre.”
“The place is swarmin’ with cops.”
“I know, but I had to get Payden outta there. Do me a favor and call Willow?” I ask.
“Done. You comin’ to the clubhouse?”
“Yep. But then Payden wants to check on her colleague at the hospital.” I take a breath, unlocking my door as I approach Dozer in his crate. He didn’t break out of it today.
Glancing up at me, he wags his little tail and starts to whimper.
“See you back here. We’ll work out a gameplan.”
“Okay,” I say, letting the latch free so he can jump out. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
I hang up and pick up Dozer.
Goddamn it, I think I missed the little guy.
So much for not getting attached.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Payden
I’ve never been in shock before. Not like this. It’s one thing to witness a terrible event, but it’s quite another to be stumbling over the bodies of your colleagues.
I can’t stop thinking about Deidre. Holy fuck.
The way I initially thought she was concentrating on something with her head bowed forward.
I gulp.
So much blood.
I close my eyes when I think about that bullet hole and the way her face was one of complete shock. I think it’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.
Taking Molly’s hand in mine when I visited her earlier was comforting, and I’m glad I was there for her until her parents arrived, but we both just sat there in shock, unable to speak.
To say it was the most terrifying moment of my life is an understatement. I still can’t quite get my head around what happened and why. If it was Cini Media or something to do with another case, why take everyone out? It isn’t like they don’t have a really good asshole lawyer of their own. Rainer Murphy is a pit-bull, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t tell his clients to come in and murder everyone in the opposing office.
“Drink it,” Logan says as I clutch the scotch in my hands.
We’re back at the clubhouse and Logan has been watching me like a hawk, as if I may fall apart at any given moment. And even though I’m made of tough stuff, today was like something out of a nightmare. A real living nightmare. Trying to get my head around seeing what I saw—that’s gonna take a minute.
I lift the glass to my lips and take a sip. I don’t like scotch, but somehow the burn in the back of my throat feels like a lifeline somehow. Reminding me that I’m still in the land of the living and don’t have a bullet in my brain like poor Deidre.
