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“Let him speak,” Cash says, pressing his hand against my forearm.
The guy whimpers and cries but he doesn’t tell us anything useful.
I lift the scalpel once again, pressing it to a new area of his chest.
“Legacy!”
I jerk my hand, turning my attention to the hospital door.
I consider everything I can lose with the sight of my boss standing there.
“He has to know where they took Devyn,” I argue, still unable to release the blade.
Nothing else matters if I lose her, and I’m fully willing to lose it all if it gets her home safely.
“He does,” Kincaid quickly agrees. “I need to see you in the hallway. Mr. Tucker, Mr. Conroy, I’d like to speak with you as well.”
I snap my eyes to Walker. Jason was his brother, and I somehow missed that during all of this shit.
Shadow, Hound, and Hemlock trade places with us, entering the room and closing the door as we step outside to speak with Kincaid.
“Let me say, Mr. Conroy, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Kincaid says.
He nods, a vacant look in his eyes. I don’t know how he stomached staying in the room with me without wanting to rip my eyes out. Those guys were there for us. The pain this community has suffered was because of Cerberus.
“Walker!”
I look around Kincaid to see a woman rushing toward us. I recognize her immediately as the woman who was crouched over the dead man in the park. She’s still covered in blood, her hands washed but red still streaking up her arms. She’s no longer in the dress she wore but in a set of scrubs no doubt given to her by hospital staff.
Walker pulls the woman to his chest, but she fights against him.
“Mom and Dad are here, and I don’t know how to tell them,” she sobs, making my throat threaten to close up with grief. She has to be their sister.
I take a step away, trying to give them some privacy.
“What was happening in there—” I say, attempting to explain to Kincaid.
“Was exactly what needed to happen, but I don’t need that on your hands,” Kincaid quickly explains. “There are others who are more adept at handling these types of things.”
Before long, the hospital door reopens. I don’t even have to guess who Kincaid was talking about when Hemlock walks out of the room wiping his bloody hands on a towel.
He doesn’t look anyone in the eye as he walks away and disappears into the restroom down the hall.
“We have an address,” Shadow says.
Walker whispers something to his sister that has her shaking her head and clinging to him as if she feels like she’s going to lose him too.
“We’ll keep him safe,” Kincaid assures her when I honestly thought he’d refuse to let the man come.
Kincaid must understand that the man needs some closure.
“What is going on?” the doctor asks as he approaches. Instead of waiting for an answer, he scurries into the hospital room. “Jesus Christ.”
The words are more shock than a prayer, but we don’t stick around long enough to explain.
It takes an hour to get to the location Hemlock was able to cut out of the shooter. It’s a meetup point of sorts, the place they all agreed to come back to if they got split up.
We approach the place with caution, decked out in the gear Kincaid and that group brought along with them. The guys who shot up the wedding didn’t have assault rifles, but a handgun is no less deadly if given the opportunity for use. We dress the same way we would if we were going to war—full gear, and locked and loaded rifles.
I’m relegated to the back of the group which I understand for being so close to this, but it doesn’t stop the rage from threatening to bubble over. I know the risk of going crazy and barreling in headfirst to a dangerous situation. I’m grateful for the trained men in front of me because I know they’re just as willing to sacrifice their own safety in order to bring Devyn home safely.
“I’ve got a parked car, but no movement,” Shadow says from some vantage point none of us can see. “There’s no heat reading inside the house, but…”
My hands are trembling so much I have to lower my weapon, the risk of an accidental fire real for the first time in my life.
“But what?” I growl into my mic.
“The trunk of the car. Heat but no movement,” Shadow explains.
There isn’t a force strong enough to hold me back. I rush past Kincaid and the other guys, but stop just short of the car. I don’t know what’s worse, knowing or not knowing.
“Let me,” Kincaid says, taking on the burden of pressing the trunk release of the car and walking back to the trunk.
“Boss,” I whisper, the word a plea that holds more significance than it ever has.
