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Tears leak from her shocked eyes as she feebly begs me to help her. I fall to my knees, immediately press my hands to the hole in her chest, and pray the sirens I hear are for us because she needs medical attention.

My mouth won’t work to reassure her, and when I see four men trading shots in the street, the sounds muted, I want to scream and cry, but nothing comes. The fear from before I met Cato returns, and I’m frozen in time as I wait for help to come for Chelsea.

Is there any coming?

I don’t even know.

My head goes fuzzy, like brain fog, so when someone tries to shove me out of the way, my fight instinct finally kicks in, and I shove them back, swinging a fist and connecting with their face. Only then do I realize it’s a paramedic who’s been trying to speak to me, but my ears still ring.

Raising my hands, I move out of their way and watch as they quickly assess Chelsea, load her up, and speed away.

Blinking rapidly, I finally register the chaos surrounding me. Noise blares like an air horn, but I don’t comprehend any of it while I sit in a pool of Chelsea’s blood. Soaked in it, apparently, as a police officer strides towards me, a concerned look on their face.

He crouches down beside me, his mouth opening and closing, but I hear nothing. My gaze lowers to my blood-stained hands, wondering where it all came from. How did she lose so much? She was still awake, aware, likely in pain and wishing she couldn’t feel a thing.

What happened?

Who shot her?

Chelsea has never done anything to hurt anyone in her life; why would someone want to hurt her?

Except… Something niggles in the back of my mind, and I can’t quite grasp it. The violent shivering begins, and my teeth chatter. Can the officer hear them? Lightheaded, I lay down on my side, drenched in blood, and close my eyes, blocking the world out.

Was that bullet meant for me?

CHAPTER 17

Cato

Finding Roberto was harder than anticipated because he kept hopping from one location to another. Z called him squirrely; I called him a dead man running. He’s currently out cold in the trunk as we drive to an abandoned warehouse block near the border.

For years, I’ve strongly suspected the CIA of using it as a black site, but there’s never been much proof other than old tire tracks. I’ve frequented it a handful of times in the last decade and never had some asshole in a fancy suit knock on my door, so either they don’t know, or they don’t care. Or I’m wrong altogether.

A warehouse loading door opens as we approach, and inside are four of my men and the station they’ve set up for Roberto. He’ll remain here until Arturo asks for him back or gives me the green light to teach him a lesson. Holding back from hurting the man who helped hurt my woman is not my typical choice, but it’s the better option for now.

“Boss,” Angelo greets me while opening my door and handing me a bottle of water. “Everything’s as requested by Z. Fresh clothes are in the car.” I intend to leave here and go straight to the library to watch Hester work until she’s finished for the day.

“Thank you.” I chug back the water until it’s gone; Angelo takes the bottle and steps aside, waiting for further instructions.

Zaiden is at the back, tailgate open, an unconscious Roberto drooling from his hog-tied position. “So peaceful,” my friend grins, grasps the ropes tied to his limbs, and drags him out, dumping him on the concrete with a crunch. “I think his nose broke.”

“What gave that away?” I snort. “The blood or the crunching.”

Z shrugs and crouches down, waiting for the man to wake up.

“Either Arturo has no idea how tough his kid is, or this fucker has a high tolerance for pain and would make one hell of an actor.”

I don’t disagree. A broken nose would turn most men into crybabies; Roberto hasn’t flinched.

“Someone wake him up,” I order, heading to the car to change into my favorite worn jeans, an evergreen henley shirt, and shit-kicking boots.

By the time I’m done, Roberto is tied to a chair, and Angelo is ready to douse him with what I assume is a bucket of freezing water when my phone rings.

I glance down to see Miles’ name on the screen and answer, “I’m a little busy right now, Miles.”

“Sorry to interrupt, boss, but there’s been a situation at the library.” My heart pounds as he relays what happened to Chelsea; however, they believe Hester was the target, and she’s in a bad way. “Police won’t let us near her. I don’t even think she knows what’s going on around her.”

Blood running cold, I lock down my emotions and signal for Zaiden to join me. Putting Miles on speaker, I ask, “Do you know who did it?”