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It’s all the prompting I need.
“This blood? It’s from my friend, Diesel. He’s in the fuc—” I pause, mindful of Charlie being right there in Molly’s arms, “—freaking hospital right now. The person who shot him is the woman I love. Emily. And, no, not ‘love.’ It’s ‘loved.’ Because she went behind my back and bought a gun, she lied about having a stalker who was apparently intent enough on hurting her he broke into her apartment and also left death threats for her at her work, and, oh, yeah, she also shot my friend right in front of my infant son.”
My voice shakes with rage, and Charlie whimpers, only calming when Molly hushes him and rocks him in her arms.
Molly's eyes widen, but she keeps her voice calm for Charlie's sake. "Jesus, Hunter. That's... I don't even know what to say."
I down the rest of my beer in one long swallow. "Yeah, well, welcome to my fucked-up life."
"Language," Molly chides gently, nodding at Charlie.
I grunt an apology, but my mind is elsewhere. The events of the day keep replaying in my head like some twisted highlight reel. Emily's terrified face, the gun in her shaking hands, Diesel's body hitting the floor. The blood. So much blood.
"You know," Bishop's gravelly voice cuts through my thoughts, "sometimes the people we think we know best are the ones who surprise us the most. And not always in a good way."
I turn to look at him, surprised by the unexpected wisdom. His eyes, usually hard and cold, have a hint of understanding in them. For a moment, I wonder what ghosts he's carrying around.
"Yeah," I mutter. "Seems that way."
Mayhem, uncharacteristically subdued, slides onto the stool next to me. "Look, man, I know I can be a pain in the ass sometimes. Rarely. According to some jerks. But if you need anything... we're here. That's what the club's about."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The lump in my throat threatens to choke me.
Molly hands Charlie back to me, and his little hands grab one of mine, as if he knows I need him in this moment.
“What now?” She says. “You going to talk to Emily? Call her? Press charges for shooting your friend?”
Even hearing that name sends a knife of pain into my heart. I shake my head, wincing. “I’m going to have another beer, then Charlie and I are going to visit Diesel and pray that he survives. Assuming my best friend doesn’t die because that b—” I pause, correct myself for Charlie’s sake, “that bad woman shot him, I’m going to do everything I can to forget I ever let that walking mistake into my life.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Emily
I wake up on a cold concrete floor, surrounded by windowless cracked concrete walls, with only a bare bulb hanging far overhead for light. A tiny vent in the ceiling lets in a trickle of air, but it does nothing to cut the smell. There’s a drain in the floor, covered by a steel grate crusted over with dark brown scum, and from it wafts an aroma that tells me that maybe this place used to be part of a butchery… or is part of an active sewer.
My head throbs as I push myself to a sitting position, and memories flood back — shooting Diesel, the break-up with Hunter, Charlie’s frantic crying, and then… Jay; his leering face, the exultant menace in his voice, the sensation of his hands on me as he dragged me into that waiting car. It all became a blur from that point, and the wooziness in my head which feels like it’s been stuffed with gauze soaked in formaldehyde. I gag as a bubble erupts from the floor drain and fills the air with a malignant stench. The act of making any sound makes my brain pulse in pain.
Drugged, kidnapped, imprisoned by my ex-boyfriend in a weird, stinky room — what a terrible way to die.
That realization settles over me with surprising ease. I’m so low, so beaten, that I just take it on like I’m sliding on a comfortable coat; this is how I die.
I sit down on the cold and dirty floor and look at the empty wall, wondering just when and how it’s going to happen. Gun? Maybe. Knife? More likely, Jay would really want to make it hurt. But I think the most likely way of all that he’ll kill me is with his bare hands. He hates me too much to use any tool that could make it even remotely quick.
I’m not kept wondering for long. There’s a metallic click, and then the door on the wall opens. As it opens, I see a unit of shelving almost directly in the doorway, as if placed there to keep the door concealed. Then I see Jay. He’s unarmed, grinning, and he looks at me like it’s only a short matter of time.
“Hey, Emily,” he says.
There’s laughter in his voice.
I don’t know if it’s his tone, his smile, or just his face, but something in me snaps as soon as he appears. Maybe I am going to die, but I can at least hurt him. He’s brought so much pain on me, cost me my relationship with Hunter and Charlie, ruined my future, and done everything one can to destroy someone’s life.
Fuck. Him.
With a scream, I launch myself at him. Fingers curled like claws, I scratch at his face and kick and howl like a rabid dog.
His eyes flash wide in surprise. Jay stumbles backward, his hands flying up to protect his face. I catch him off guard, my nails raking across his cheek and drawing blood. The sight of it fuels my rage even more. I continue my assault, clawing and kicking with every ounce of strength I can muster.
"You bitch!" he snarls, grabbing my wrists and trying to push me away.
