Calls from your mom at 2 AM could never be good.
So I answered.
And my entire fucking world collapsed.
"What's wrong?" I asked, cutting to the chase.
"Eli."
I knew.
I fucking knew.
Never in my life had I felt so completely fucking unsteady.
I dropped down on the edge of the bed, my stomach in painful knots, having to swallow through a lump the size of fucking Russia in my throat. "Tell me," I demanded, the words barely getting out with my painfully clenched jaw.
I was vaguely aware of Scotti looking down at me for a minute before frantically going in search for shoes, like she knew it was serious, like she knew she needed to be there for me.
And, as fucking self-sufficient as I might have been, in this case, she wasn't wrong.
"We got the call just fifteen minutes ago," she said, and I could hear my father laying on the horn in the background. "He's at the NBPD. We didn't get anything more than that. But, you know," she said, tone heavy. And I did know.
This wasn't like when she would get the calls about Shane or me when we were younger and stupid. This wasn't some bullshit drunk and disorderly or disrupting the peace.
This was Eli we were talking about.
He never got in idiotic, bullshit trouble that meant he needed to be bailed out.
But he did completely fucking rage out and beat the ever-loving shit out of people sometimes.
So if he was in, he was in for aggravated assault.
"They just picked him up now?" I asked, trying to get the whole picture even as I stood, giving Scotti a nod as she pointed to her purse with furrowed brows, asking silently if we needed to move.
"No. Apparently they've had him since this morning," my mother snapped, obviously pissed. And Helen Mallick pissed, well, she was about to stir a lot of shit up at the NBPD.
"The fuck you mean they've had him since this morning?" I asked as we went into the hall. "Why wouldn't he have called before now?"
"That's just it," she went on as the elevator started dinging downward. "He didn't call at all."
"What do you mean he didn't call?" Why was she giving me everything in bits and pieces? I felt like I was being ripped apart with each new revelation.
All I could seem to think was: not Eli. Not fucking Eli. Not the only goddamn one of us who never should have been in the fucking business in the first place. He wasn't meant for it. He was forced into it.
Even as I thought it, all I could imagine was the guilt my parents must have been feeling right then, knowing what I knew about him not being cutout for the enforcer life, and painfully aware that they had been the ones to push him into it.
"He refused his phone call. Didn't even call a lawyer."
"Then how did you even know he was there?"
"Collings called," she said, sounding tenser by the minute. "He said he knew he was supposed to respect his right to make a call, or not to, but that he knew us and he knew we would want at least to know."
Thank fucking God for Collings.
I swear the town would go to hell without him.
"How far out are you?"
"An hour and fifteen if I do the speed limit," I said as we stepped out of the elevator.
"So thirty-five tops," she guessed.
"Exactly."
"We're here now," she said, and I could hear doors slamming. "So are your brothers." There was a short pause, then, "I can't fucking believe this."
I couldn't fucking believe it either.FIFTEENScottiI was only getting bits and pieces at first.
I could tell that whatever it was, was serious.
I mean, of course it was at that hour.
But when I say it was serious, I mean enough to knock a grown, strong, lifelong criminal off his own two feet.
So that only meant one thing.
Family.
And then I could hear Helen's voice on the other line say the dreaded phrase: NBPD.
Someone was arrested. And given their professions, I had to assume it was for something at least related to assault.
I wanted to ask; I wanted to know.
But I also knew the last thing he needed right then was more questions. He needed answers.
So I was silent beside him as we broke out into the lobby, him still talking to his mother.
I caught sight of King at the front desk, brows drawn together. I rushed over, handing him my keycard for the room, and answering his unasked questions. "One of his brothers got locked up," I said, knowing he knew what that meant, knowing I could trust him to deal with all the details of the room and whatnot while I left.
"Shit," he said, giving me a heavy look.
"I know," I agreed, moving off.
"Turn that phone back on," he called at my retreating form.