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It’s an acceptable answer. Alana responds well to Savage, and I believe that man is emotionally invested enough in our situation that he would kill for her and me. Some might not call that an admirable quality, but I do. I’ll be down in five, I reply.
Blake: Savage is already at the door. Joey is going with you today.
Me: I thought Joey was with Alana’s mother?
Blake: She kicked him out. I put a couple men on her that she won’t recognize. She’s a bitch, but she’s a safe bitch.
She is a fucking bitch, I think, but she’s Alana’s mother, and all she has left other than me. I won’t allow her to be taken away from her, even if she deserves a damn grave as far as I’m concerned. I slide my phone back into my pocket, and then enter the bedroom again, quietly resting a note on my pillow for Alana to find. She doesn’t stir, her back to me, her shoulders curved forward, her dark hair splayed across her snowy white pillowcase. God, I love this woman, and have loved her my entire life. It is the kind of bond few have experienced or will ever know or understand. And what I didn’t see, until recently, is that we are the bond that demolishes the hatred of our families, the gift that replaces their venom with the equivalent of sunshine mixed with the sweet honeysuckles that grew by our childhood homes each summer. Alana loved that honeysuckle, and I came to love it, too. Because it reminded me of her.
With great restraint, I resist touching Alana, creeping from the room, and shutting the door behind me. I cross the room and step into the hallway, where Savage waits for me. “She’s still asleep. There’s fresh coffee waiting.”
“Thanks, man. I got part of the blood test back. It was positive for a date rape drug, which you can’t get in the US, but we already know these guys are not from the US. It would have knocked her out immediately, which fits what she describes.”
My teeth grit with a mental image of Alana being stabbed in the neck by a needle. “What else does it do?”
“Fucks up the memory. Do we have any reason to believe she was assaulted beyond the obvious?”
He means raped. Fuck. “No. Not in the context you’re speaking of, but it doesn’t mean the bastards didn’t have their hands all over her.”
“There wasn’t much time for them to think of anything but avoiding us. They were still right under our noses. How is she?”
I know what he means. How is she mentally holding up. “She had a rough night, but she’s okay. She’s going to freak out when she wakes up, and I’m not here. She’ll think I went to kill him.”
“No one could blame you if you did, but sometimes, man, death is the easy way out.”
It’s an echo of my own words, and he’s not wrong.
“How do you make him curl up in a corner and disappear?” he asks. “That’s what you need to figure out. That’s the winner. Make him submit. That’s the best fucking punishment for a man like your father. Rip his balls off and make him bleed, because if you leave his balls, he’ll come back at you.” With those brilliant words, he steps toward the door, and clamps a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll make sure she knows you aren’t off killing him. We got this.” He releases me and then reaches for the door before turning to add. “You’re in good hands. Joey’s a beast, almost as dangerous as I am. He’ll save you from yourself, if not your enemies.” With that, he enters the apartment.
He thinks I’m going to kill my father.
I can only hope that’s exactly what my father is thinking right now, but it’s not. If he feared me, he would never have touched Alana. He’s going to fear me before this is over. And I will enjoy ripping his balls out and watching him bleed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Damion
I exit the elevator to find Blake and Joey waiting on me, but it’s Joey that has my attention—Joey, who will be by my side today. He’s a tall man with dark, wavy hair and intelligent, alert green eyes, but what stands out the most to me is the scar across his throat, thick and raised with time. Holy shit, someone sliced his throat, and he survived it.
“Where’s Adam?” I ask.
“Interrogating the man we captured last night,” Blake states.
“Kellan arrived,” I say, referencing the man they flew in for the job.
“About an hour ago,” he confirms.
Another flash of Alana being stabbed in the neck with a needle torments me, a grimace working its way across my face. “I want to be there when he talks to him.”
“Not happening,” Blake states. “We’re turning him over to the FBI when we’re done with him. You can’t be anywhere near him to be identified. Kellan’s sly, and no one likes looking into that man’s eyes. They don’t like what they see when they do. He knows how to make asshole’s talk. Trust me, Damion. I know that’s hard for you to hear right now, but I wasn’t wrong about Alana being in the building. I’m not wrong now.”
“The one smart thing your father does,” Joey interjects, “is he removes himself from his actions. Be that smart.”
Blake shakes his head. “Joey’s right, but it’s easier for your father, I know, because he cares about no one, where you love Alana deeply, and I get that. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but there was a time when I was in your same position.”
“You keep saying that, Blake. What the fuck does that even mean?”
He lifts his chin at Joey, and Joey backs away and saunters toward the front door.
