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“He’s got a child,” I murmured.
“Yeah. Justin’s wife did a runner when the kid was born, six years ago now. Justin’s parents have him. Cops haven’t moved his body yet; half the force is standing watch over him. Someone’s been sent to pick up the parents and boy,” Apache added.
“Make sure Rage knows that when they bring Justin in, we stand watch with the police. He was one of us,” I said, trying to focus on anything but Axel’s injury.
The doors slammed open, and Wild stormed in. His face appeared murderous, and he headed straight for me. Fuck, the kid was unhinged.
I reached out and grasped his shoulders, yanking him into me for a hug and then stepping back.
“Come,” Linda announced, popping up from nowhere. She’d clearly been watching for her husband.
Wild growled. “Linda—”
Linda cupped his face.
“Ain’t arguing, you gonna have questions. Is Drake a doc or me? Now come with me!” she said.
Wild did as he was told, and I breathed a sigh of relief for Wild’s stubborn-assed wife.
Moments later, Cowboy ran in, and I pointed towards Wild and Linda.
“Over there!” I ordered, and he didn’t hesitate.
People were flooding the waiting room; Hawthorne’s men arrived in groups. Nando’s family entered after, which meant every Hawthorne alive was present. The Juno Group came too, providing relief in fetching coffees and shit.
More cops showed up, off duty and on duty. RC wasn’t being policed properly today, not with one of their own down and another in surgery. Several times I saw Howser take a call and hang up, his face grim. Seconds ticked past, turning into long minutes, becoming two hours when Howser took a call and straightened.
“Goldberg’s parents are arriving with his son. Honour guard,” he snapped. There was a shuffling of feet as cops lined the entrance and outside, creating a safe harbour for the grieving family. Rage joined them with Hawthorne’s men and family.
I couldn’t meet the eyes of the woman who walked forward, her husband’s arm around her waist clearly supporting her and a six-year-old boy clenched tightly against her.
This was Justin Goldberg’s family.
I swore they’d never go without. Whatever I could give them wouldn’t replace their son and father, but they’d live and breathe easy. Apart from ripping Fury’s throat out, that’s all I could offer them. Howser met them and murmured some words, and then they were taken away down corridors, which would lead to the morgue where Justin Goldberg was being brought. More cops and friends lined those hallways, offering silent comfort.
“Honour guard,” a tired and weak voice called, and my head snapped up to see a visibly distraught Bobby Lucas. The man looked like shit. His uniform was torn and dirty, and he was dishevelled, but my heart swelled at seeing him alive and unharmed. How Bobby was standing, I didn’t know, but he remained on his feet as he walked in front of a gurney. Under that cover lay a cop. A brother to the people wearing blue and a friend to others.
Bobby shrugged off the support of several cops as Ramirez and Ben escorted the gurney from the sides. All three looked heartbroken and torn apart, and Ramirez had a burning hate and promised revenge in his eyes as he caught my gaze.
I nodded. Whatever it took. RCPD had taken a hit; we would back them in their endeavours to get those responsible.
I wanted to tear my stare away from the gurney as it passed me, but I couldn’t. Pain bit deep that Fury and his fuckin’ shit had taken away a good friend and family man. As Justin’s body passed me, I swore an oath to bring his killers down. I watched as Justin disappeared down a hallway and dropped my head, rubbing my face.
Phoe shoved under my arm and held me tightly.
We were still waiting on news from Axel, Dan, and Nando. Death might not have finished with us yet.
???
Doc Paul entered the waiting room an hour later. Half of the cops had gone after they brought in Justin, and I knew they were flooding the streets looking for those responsible. Everyone’s head tilted towards him as he looked at Dylan Hawthorne.
“Nando?” Dylan croaked, straightening. His receptionist, Dana Tyne, was under his arm and holding him tightly. She provided as much comfort as she could.
“His parents here?” Doc Paul asked.
“Here,” Curt Hawthorne said, stepping forward with Francesca, his wife. Their remaining children surrounded them. Emilio, the eldest, was a cop in Spearfish, Nando’s younger brother Arturo, who worked with Dylan. Imelda, the eldest of the girls and the triplets, Justine, Maria, and Sweet Sophia. Then the youngest two, Jacinta and Josefina, were twins. Around them stepped the rest of the Hawthornes, all supporting Nando’s immediate family.
“Say what you gotta say; ain’t no strangers here. Just spit it out, no fancy language,” Curt stated.
