Page 52

“Victor is already involved. My family is already in this street shit, not because of the Disciples; because of me.”

I wanted to reassure him that it wasn’t true. He was a good man.

“I was a breath away from indicting Valentino. He sent his men to execute my son and send a message.” The emotion in Patrick’s voice made everything in me tense with frustration.

I’d not let anything happen to them.

Surely, he knew it, even if I couldn’t answer him.

“Make my family yours, before they use Oakland or Brenna as his replacement.”

The ghostly words hit me like a bucket of cold water. I sucked in a deep breath and nearly choked on the astringent odor. Beeping mingled with the brightest lights I’d ever seen.

I groaned and rolled to my side.

“Oh, Mr. Henshaw!” A woman in scrubs exclaimed, moving quickly to my side.

I wobbled a bit until I got a good hold on the railing.

“Where the hell am I?” I sighed, rather tired of waking up in the hospital.

I began to gather up my clothes and hop into them as best I could. There weren’t any lines or oxygen monitoring devices attached to me, but I had a bit of gauze taped to my arm.

“You’re in Nokomi–”

“Right,” I nodded, having figured as much.

It was the nearest hospital, after all.

“I wasn’t driving this time,” I blurted out, being sure of at least that much.

“No, sir.” She lightly chuckled, “You had a seizure. A neighbor found you.”

“A seizure,” I paused long enough to consider the suggestion. “Ain’t had one of them since I first stopped drinking.”

“Yes, that’s what your record reflects.”

“Been taking my medicine, too, so don’t start chirping about none of that,” I warned, as I tugged on my shoes.

I looked up in time to grab the clipboard as it was shoved toward me.

“They said you had a history of preferring to leave as soon as you were coherent and mobile, so I took the liberty of preparing your discharge papers just in case.”

I took the clipboard, not immediately believing her. She handed me a pen and watched as I began to scribble my signature.

“Good woman,” I acknowledged, just before I finished.

“You have a good afternoon, Mr. Henshaw. There are instructions there if you need them, and advice on when to return if you develop any signs that may require emergency treatment.”

“Appreciate ya,” I mumbled, starting toward the door.

I wasn’t a hermit, but I wasn’t all that neighborly with the folks who lived near me. I was half convinced whoever had called it in was likely there to rob me.

Chapter Nineteen

Two Wheeled Chariot

Brenna