by Cecy Robson
“I want my fucking money,” he grinds out. “I know you took it. The phony accounts, the passwords, I want everything back.”
“You’ll have to see the district attorney about that. He has everything you’re looking for.” I swallow hard. “I warn you, he won’t take kindly to you harming his sister, and neither will I.”
Wren’s chest rises and falls in furious bursts, her terror keeping me from acting.
“Didn’t you hear me the first time, dick?” Bryant counters. “I don’t care about what happens to her. But I guess you saw it for yourself in that video I sent you.”
Fury roils my stomach. “Fuck you, Bryant,” Wren tells him.
“I already did, pretty girl,” he mutters against her ear. “And your boyfriend here saw just how hard.”
I take another step forward. “I am going to destroy you,” I reply, the edge to my tone sharpening. “Whatever mangy bits are left will rot in prison.”
My voice is eerily calm, lethal. It’s not a threat. It’s what I’m prepared to do.
Bryant doesn’t care. “The money,” he repeats, emphasizing each word. “Just like you gave the D.A. access, you can give me that same access back. No trace, no bullshit.” He inches away. “Wire it to the account Wren here will text you and you may or may not get her back in once piece.”
“You raped her,” I snap. “Now you’re taking her hostage and willing to kill her?”
“I did, I am, and I will,” he answers, without blinking. “I’m having it all. Including the twenty mil you fucking took from me. She stays with me until you give me what I want. You hear me? I get to have her all to myself.”
He takes his final step out of the light and into the darkness, his form and Wren’s becoming one with the night. “Later, pussy,” he spits out.
My hands ball into fists. “Alfred,” I say. “Protect.”
Every security light flares on, bathing the driveway and front yard in an explosion of bright white.
“Protecting,” Alfred’s voice booms.
Bryant’s head jerks back and forth. From the hidden cameras in the trees, infrared beams shoot out, linking with the beams from the concealed cameras above the garage and along the roof. I stalk forward as they crisscross over Wren’s chest, forming a net and zooming up to zero in on Bryant’s face.
“Surveillance video sent to Villanova and Philadelphia police departments,” Alfred calls out. “Bryant Caribe, twenty-six year old Caucasian male, 76 Maple Avenue, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, identified. Police are on their way. Digital recording remains in process.”
The shock in Bryant’s features is replaced with undeniable savagery. “You motherfucker—”
I launch forward. He points his gun and fires, the blast echoing as I haul Wren into my arms.
I wrench her behind me, catching her when she can’t keep her feet. I’m unsure why until warm fluid spreads across my palm.
“No!” I yell, my heart sinking when she collapses.
I ease her down, her body quaking in agony and her breath mere gasps.
As I watch, the light that shimmers her deep blue eyes fades.
Wren
My vision blurs as Evan sets me on the ground. Pain like I’ve never felt sears through my back, setting the surrounding muscles and bones on fire. I want to claw at the ground, it hurts so damn much. But I can’t move my arms.
I can’t move at all.
Evan’s saying something, but his words sound muffled and far away.
“Help is coming.”
“Don’t leave me.”
“You can’t leave me.”
Bryant was going to kill him. I realized it the moment he learned his actions and confession were captured on video. He knew he was screwed. Just like he knew he had nothing to lose. I could tell by the way he loosened his hold. He was done with me and going after Evan.
I didn’t think about me or what could happen when the pressure eased off my throat. My full focus was on Evan as I threw myself forward.
It’s too late for me, anyway. I know it, and I think Evan does, too.
Blood seeps through my skin, cooling as it spreads along my back and pours across the concrete in tiny rivers.
I don’t want to die . . . I want to stay with Evan and travel the world him. I want him to take me to all those places he’s told me about, like that castle in Scotland that overlooks a valley covered with lilacs, and that trattoria in Milan with the best risotto he’s ever tasted.
I want to be with him the day he decides to expand his company, and celebrate with him when it becomes the global giant we always believed it could be. I want to tell him that I’m proud of the man and leader he is, and how I never knew how great I could be until he showed me.
Mostly though, I want to tell him that I love him, that I want to make babies with him, and watch them grow up as we grow old together.
But as my vision clouds and grows dark, and that pain morphs into an uncomfortable numbness, I’m not sure I’ll be able tell him anything.
Another gun blast has me whipping my eyes open. But it’s the one right after, and the pained grunt that follows, that forces me to loll my head in that direction.
Evan and Bryant are rolling on the ground, their fists pounding so hard, each strike reverberates across my skull.
The gun lays a few feet from me, and even closer to Bryant.
I try and tilt, but it’s like everything hurts and nothing is working right. The need to close my eyes returns. I fight it, trying to stay awake.
A spurting sound follows the solid crunch of bone. I can’t tell who’s winning. All I know is I have to move and get that gun.
My head spins as I pitch onto my side. Pain radiates from the hotspot in my shoulder, streaming out to my limbs. I fall onto my stomach, grunting as another wave of agony radiates down my spine and causes my feet to spasm.
I crawl forward, each movement making me want to puke from the way my vision fades in and out.
I reach for the gun, my fingers slipping over the handle several times before I’m finally able to grab it. I pull it to me, knowing I don’t have the strength to fire, but scared shitless Bryant will turn it on Evan.
But Evan and Bryant are gone.
Angry shouts ricochet from the bottom of the driveway and what sounds like hard bodies collide against the asphalt. I crawl away from them and toward the garage. I think I see my phone lying on the floor. It’s hard to tell, my world taking another revolting spin.
I push my legs out, hoping I’m going in the right direction. I spit out what might be blood halfway through, almost crying with relief when my hand touches a tire.
“Alfred, call Curran.”
My head falls against my arm as sirens blare in the distance. I don’t hear the phone ring, I only hear Curran yelling. “Where the fuck are you? We got a call about shots fired at Evan’s place.”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
“Wren? . . . Wren. Talk to me . . . Are you there? Me and Deck, we’re coming.”
My lips move. The words don’t come out.
“Wren, God damn it—”
“I . . . hurt.”
“What?”
My words are slurred and my head throbs with each breath. My back is drenched. I shudder feeling my body temperature drop.
The sirens are closer. Just up the road. “I’m hurt,” I manage, my words barely audible. “Bryant . . . shot me.”
Curran doesn’t hear me. Declan does. “Wren, you stay with us! You hear me? Don’t you fucking leave us, Wren.”
“Da hell?” Curran asks.
“She’s in trouble,” Declan bites out his voice cold and controlled. “Bryant shot her.”
A clicking sound follows. “This is Officer Curran O’Brien, Philadelphia PD en route to 1239 Mount Pleasant Road, Villanova. Armed gunman in vicinity. At least one person shot and in need of immediate medical attention. Victim is my sister, repeat, victim is my sister.”
“You stay alive—You hear me?” Dec
lan says. “You and Evan both—God damn it, don’t you leave us.”
I want to tell them that Evan is fighting Bryant. That they need to help him. I don’t get the chance.
More fluid leaks from my mouth and Evan is suddenly with me, cradling me in his arms.
His image is blurry, but I know it’s him. I recognize the way he tucks me against him and how my body conforms so perfectly to his.
“Wren,” he says, stroking my hair away from my face. “Baby, can you hear me?”
My lips part as I grip the front of his shirt. I want to sleep. God, I’m so tired. “Stay awake,” he tells me, passing his hand down my throat to my sternum. “Don’t close your eyes. I know it hurts, but you have to fight. For me. For us.” He spits out a curse. “I don’t want to live without your smile.”
He thinks I’m dying. But I’m not the only one. I release his shirt when I feel how wet it is, the leaking fluid drenching my hand. “Evan, this isn’t my blood . . .”
My eyes close. The last thing I feel is the partial weight of his chest, pressing against mine as he lowers us to the ground.
That, and how much I love him.
CHAPTER 28
Evan
“He’s waking up,” a familiar voice calls. It’s Clifton, I think. Anne follows, albeit more stunned, her tone bordering on hysterical.
“He can’t be—Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
“Fuck, he looks like shit.”
Oh, and look, Finn’s here as well.
I blink my heavy eyes open, though they fall closed more than once.
Clifton is at my side with Anne directly behind him, her hands clapped over her mouth.
Finn stands at the foot of the bed, eating what I imagine is hospital food. “Hey, Evan. How you feeling?” he asks through a large mouthful. He glances down at the spaghetti rolled up on his fork. “You don’t mind me eating this, do you? You’ve been sleeping a lot lately and it’s a sin to waste food, you feel me?”
I open my mouth, my throat feeling absurdly dry. I try to force myself up, only for a wretched burn to rip through my chest and threaten to tear it open. The plate smashes against the roll up table when Finn drops it and hurries to my side, opposite Clifton, each taking an arm and keeping me from falling back.
“Anne, get the nurse,” Clifton urges.
“Where’s Wren?” I manage.
I glance up at Finn when no one answers. “Where is she?” I ask, my stomach plunging.
“She’s in ICU,” Finn replies. “She’s okay. Stable, but she lost a lot of blood. Even more than you.” He huffs. “And you got shot in the chest.”
“I was shot,” I reply, slowly, the pieces of the night beginning to take form.
Wren put herself in harm’s way to shield me. She felt lifeless as I lowered her to the ground. Initially, I was stunned, unable to move as was Bryant who meant the bullet for me.
I recovered first, springing to my feet and charging. Adrenaline is a gift, I never knew until the sting of the bullet struck my chest and I kept going, tackling him.
The impact caused him to lose the gun. I tried to kick it away, but my rage demanded his pain. My fists became weapons, only he was armed with them, too. We fought until he stopped moving from the blows I inflicted to his face and skull.
“You fucked up Bryant pretty damn bad,” Finn says. “He’s at the ICU across town.” His features morph to granite. “My only gripe is he’s still alive.”
Perhaps I should care one way or the other. I don’t. “I want to see Wren.”
“Mr. Jonah, you’re awake.” A nurse well into her prime hurries in, trailed by Anne and what seems to be an assistant. “I’m Amy, this is Traci. We’re taking care of you today. Get water for him, will you, Traci?”
“I need to check you,” Amy says, reaching for the buttons on the rails. “Let’s have your friends step out.”
“They may stay,” I mumble, coughing from how dry my throat feels. “Speak freely, I trust them.”
“If it’s okay with you, it’s okay with us.”
The assistant pours water as the nurse raises the back of the bed so I may sit upright. Finn and Clifton edge away, allowing the medical staff to perform their duties. I down the water, passing Anne the empty cup. She clutches it against her, her gaze shifting from side to side, appearing to want to help.
The assistant takes my blood pressure while the nurse listens to my chest. I motion to the IV in my hand. “May I get this out? I’d like to see my wife.”
“One thing at a time, Mr. Jonah,” the nurse responds, her full attention on the bandages on my chest. “Your labs look good, but I need to make sure the rest of you is just as healthy.”
I don’t hear what follows, too fixated on the way Finn arches his brow. “Wife?” he asks.
I didn’t realize what I said until he reminds me. “It’s who she is to me,” I answer truthfully.
A small smile creeps across his face. “Then maybe you should ask her.” He chuckles. “You’ve had my blessing since you made me bacon.”
I laugh, only to wince when pain stabs my chest. “Everything looks good, Mr. Jonah.”
“It’s Evan,” I tell her. “And if so, I’d like to see her.”
“Let’s see how you do when we get you up to the bathroom,” she says.
Wren
Ma brushes my hair with her old wooden brush, the one with the boars’ hair bristles. It always left my hair smooth and silky. I think the last time she used it on me was to braid my hair all those years ago, back when she’d weave in those satiny ribbons.
How old was I then? Nine, maybe ten? I remember the girls at school making fun of me, telling me I was too old for them. I didn’t care, knowing my mother carved out that pocket of time, just to spend it with me.
“You always had the prettiest hair,” she says, her accent likely just as thick as the day she left Ireland. “Every little girl in the neighborhood used to admire it, wanting to touch it. But I knew we were in trouble when the boys began to notice it, too.” She cocks her head, looking a little bit older, and a little more grey, but it’s the sadness dulling her stare that worries me more. “I wish I would have spent more time braiding that pretty hair.”
Her eyes well. I recognize that it’s not due to my lost childhood, but because she almost lost that little girl whose hair she loved to brush.
“Ma, I’m fine,” I tell her, forcing a smile even though smiling is the last thing I feel like doing.
Christ. Evan was shot. I was, too. But as much as I hurt, it hurt more knowing he’d almost died because of a man I’d forced into his life.
“How’s Evan?” I ask, meeting Seamus’s face because it’s too hard to meet Ma’s.
“He’s all right,” Seamus insists. “He was discharged late last night. Every time he came in you were out cold.” He frowns. “You weren’t doing that shit on purpose. Were ya?”
“No, Seamus,” I reply. “Let’s just say I’ve been really tired.”
I don’t want to remind them why I’ve been so tired, weak, and barely able to lift my head. It must have been something, getting that call that I’d been shot. I think one of us dying has always been our deepest fear, even though we’ve never talked about it. The seven of us, we’re tight. Loud, obnoxious, borderline crazy, but tight as God and this tiny woman brushing the length of my hair intended. One of us going, especially so young, is not an option, even though it’s part of life. And now that some of my brothers are married and have their own families, that fear has extended. That’s a good thing in a way. It means there are more people to love and be scared for.
Curran and Declan poke their heads in, motioning to Ma and Seamus. “Your turn,” I see Curran mouth to Seamus.
It was the same thing Killian said to them. Ma and Angus were the first. The only difference being that it was Finnie who lured them out. At first, I thought they just wanted their chance to see me since they limit visitors. Now, I’m not so sure. Not with the way Ma reacts.
She presses a kiss to my forehead like she used to do when she’d kiss us all good night. There’s so much—I don’t know, love— behind that motion, I almost well up my damn self. But then she says what she says and it’s like my body sucks the tears back up.
“Don’t fuck it up, Wrennie,” she tells me.
Her accent remains light and pretty, despite the F-bomb she just dropped.
“Ma said, ‘fuck’,” Curran mutters to Declan when she and Seamus step out.
Yeah, she did. I blink back to where she disappeared through the door. “What the hell?”
“She’s been worried,” Declan says. “We all have.” He keeps his gaze rock steady. “How are you?”
“Tired of being here,” I admit. My stare drills a hole into the far wall where there’s a small cabinet stuffed with medical crap to keep saps like me alive. “What’s going to happen to Bryant?” I ask. I haven’t wanted to say his name. It makes what happened more real, I guess. I wish it didn’t. But it does.
“With two attempted murder charges and all the money laundering he’s done for the mob, he’s not getting out, ever. I’ll make sure of that.”
“Except in a body bag,” Curran adds. He shrugs, staring right at Declan. “He was technically a cop. I guess we’ll have to let his new friends at the state pen know as much.”
“I just want him out of my life.” I stroke my hair, feeling how soft it is following Ma’s care and wishing it wasn’t such an effort to lift my arm. “I hate what he did to me, but mostly what he did to Evan.” I shake my head, my misery burning way worse than the residual pain in my shoulder. “I almost lost him.”
“I think he was more afraid of losing you,” Declan says. He crosses his arms. “When we arrived, the paramedics were all over you. They told us they had to pull Evan off you. He was barely conscious, but they found him, covering your body, trying to keep you warm, and afraid to let you go. It looked bad, Wren. But it was worse on the surveillance video.”