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“Yeah. Cretin was able to subdue both men before police arrived. They’re locked in the trunk of his car, on the way to Adonis Lorde in Anaheim. Figured you might want this one handled off-site.”
“Good thinking. I’m on my way to you now. Kids and Ma are secure?”
Z walks away with his phone to his ear, and I suspect he’s calling his contact in Arturo’s organization. There’s no way this isn’t fucking related to our meeting with him this morning.
“Yeah, they’re on a private jet heading to Las Vegas. Theias Lorde has offered up a penthouse suite in one of his hotels with triple security.”
“Those Lorde brothers are being awfully helpful,” I mutter.
“Not without cost.” Miles relays a number that would make most people flinch; I don’t bat an eye.
“I’ll see you soon, Miles. Don’t allow anyone to take Hester away. Find the incident commander and let him know I’m on my way as well.” He hangs up after agreeing, and my eyes zero in on Roberto sputtering as Angelo and another man waterboard him.
Chelsea being shot is unfortunate, but I’m relieved it wasn’t Hester. The way I would burn the city to the ground if it had been would have claimed an infinite amount of casualties.
“Zaiden!” I shout. My friend turns, raises a brow, and shakes his head.
So Arturo isn’t behind the shooting. My eyes shift to Roberto, and this time Z nods, knowing I want the man thoroughly interrogated as I leave.
Racing to the library is a blur. I’m not used to this level of urgency, and I stop for nothing in my way—not vehicles, pedestrians, or red lights. Screeching to a stop after narrowly missing a cop car with flashing lights, I shove through the crowd to see police tape cordoning off the scene.
In the middle of it all is Hester lying on the ground, surrounded and covered in dry blood, eyes open and unfocused as she stares across the street, seeing nothing. Her blank look worries me.
Miles and another of my men are standing off to the side, arguing with two officers. I glance around to spot the man in charge just as he turns and sees me. A resigned look crosses his face as he waves me over.
Sidestepping the chaotic activity, I stop in front of him and wait for him to speak. “You know the girl?”
“She’s my girl.” My possessive tone is impossible to miss.
He sighs. “Look, I need a statement from her, but she won’t even look at me.” His annoyance pisses me off.
“She just witnessed her best friend being shot in front of her; what do you expect?” Seems pretty fucking simple to me. “Hester has enough issues; being hounded by a bunch of cops is not going to help.”
“What do you mean she has enough issues?” He pulls out a notepad and pen.
“She’s painfully shy, and I mean physically. She stutters until she’s sick because she can’t help it. Having your guys pressuring her to speak to them isn’t helping anyone. Let me take her home, get her rested, and see where we’re at tomorrow.” I give him the illusion of an option, but that’s what’s about to happen.
“I can’t do that,” he starts to say, but I walk away, break through the police tape, and ignore his shouts for me to stop. Miles handles anyone who tries to prevent me from approaching Hester.
“Kitten.” My tone is meant to soothe as I scoop her up in my arms and get walloped with concern at the amount of dried blood on her clothing. “I’m taking you home.” If she is injured, it’s not too severe, but I’ll check her again once she’s in the shower.
She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t acknowledge me in any way. Lost in her mind, I can only hope she feels my comforting embrace as I carry her past the commotion and into the back seat of my car while Miles slips behind the wheel.
“You want a doctor to meet us at the house?” he asks. I nod, not taking my eyes off Hester. Her trembling is more noticeable now, and her rapid breathing tells me she’s locked in panic. Whatever happened has paralyzed her.
“Find out how Chelsea is doing too,” I instruct once he’s off the phone.
Brushing my hand across Hester’s head, I stay focused on her face as she stares into a void, analyzing every little micro-expression, hoping for a sign that she understands she’s safe now.
“Who’s with Ma and the kids?” I ask as we pull up and face a level of security tighter than our last lockdown.
“Theias assures me they’re safe with him; however, I sent the Breckin brothers with them.” I raise a brow at that. The Breckin brothers are my deadliest weapons aside from Zaiden and myself. They thrive on bloodshed and bullets.
All three came to me about four years ago, fresh off a CIA op, covered in dried blood, bullet wounds, and a thirst for destruction. If I wanted to challenge Arturo Santos, they’re the ones I would send to get the job done. They’re quiet, speaking only when necessary, and even then, in as few words as possible. Trusting them with my family might be questionable because I don’t think they have hearts, but they’ll do for now.
“Doctor will be here within the hour,” Miles says as he opens the door for me to get out with Hester still in my arms.
“Send him up once he arrives and, Miles”—I stop to meet his stare—“nobody in or off the grounds except him.” He agrees. “I want to speak with Cretin as soon as his prisoners are secured. I’m thinking Devlin might have better accommodations.”
