I know that, and it eats me up. Leaning back in the chair, I look up at the inside of the car roof and clench my fists in annoyance. “What do you suggest we do?”
“We wait,” he returns. “We know they’re both in the state. I’ll put a passport alert on Conti, but we both know he won’t need it, being that he flies privately. We’ll follow Emil to wherever he goes and put men on him. We’ll catch up with them another time. It’s not happening tonight, Twitch.” I feel his eyes on me. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted this to be over.”
My voice gruff, I tell him, “No, we do this right. Another week ain’t gonna kill me.”
Black breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s good. Besides, I wouldn’t like to upset MacDiarmid’s wife.”
My brow furrows at that rather baffling comment, but I take the bait he set. “Why? Who is she?”
In the moonlight, a small smile tugs at Black’s lips. “Your sister, Manda.”
Surprise has me sitting up all the way.
Well, smack my ass and call me a bitch.
At what point do you give up in life?
I’ve survived so much already. Losing my mom at eleven. Given to an abusive husband at eighteen. Married to and rejected by another at twenty-four.
The hardest part of losing someone isn’t the good-bye, but rather learning to live without what they provided, and constantly trying to fill the void they leave behind when they go.
I’m not even mad at Julius.
Not really. Just hurt.
But I’ll try to push aside the gaping wound he caused. As the thought passes, my chest tightens unbearably, and another bout of tears takes hold of me, immobilizing me.
As soon as I walked into the reception area of The Sunflower Inn, a young man sitting behind the counter shot up out of his seat and rushed over toward me, wrapping his arms around me at the very moment I lost the use of my legs.
“PawPaw,” the man in his late teens called out as he held me, lowering me to the ground to sit on my bottom then stepping back.
I must’ve looked a sight, because when I raised my hand to tell him that I didn’t need any help, his eyes widened and he let out a low curse. That was when Duane appeared from out the back. He took one look at me and his shoulders drooped, a look of sadness crossing his weathered face. He came to kneel by my side, taking my cold, dirty hand in his, patting it in a fatherly action that had a sudden rush of emotion wash over me. Lips trembling, I lifted my free hand to cover my eyes then turned my head to the side as another torrent of tears escaped me. And when I cried, this time, the part of me that was rational and held me together broke free and was swept away as the flood of salt water streaked my face, dripping off of my chin.
Duane squeezed my hand. “Been worried about you, Miss Ana. The state of your room… and you weren’t there… well, Jimmy and I thought the worst.” I chanced a glance up at him through my fingers and Duane’s eyes widened, as he whispered dramatically, “We thought you were dead.”
I couldn’t help it.
Duane thought he was being quiet.
He wasn’t.
A short bark of laughter escaped me as I explained, “I’m sorry about the room. Whatever damage, I’ll pay for it.” A thought crossed me, and I grudgingly removed my shaking hand from his, reaching for my duffle. Unzipping it, I reached in, took out a wad of cash I had originally taken from my home with Dino and handed it to him.
He looked down at the bundle in his hand and blinked in shock. “I can’t take this, Miss Ana.”
With a light sniff, I took hold of his wrist, and told him, “I have no need for that money, Duane. Fix the room and…” I went quiet. “And maybe you’ll lend me another for the night?”
His stunned disbelief turned to anger. “Dang it, girl. Of course you can have yourself a room.” He stood, held onto the money and my stomach went lax in relief. He pulled the young man to his side and told me, “This is Wyatt, Jimmy’s boy. Wyatt, this is Ana.” He pinned his grandson with a light glare. “She needs our help.”
Wyatt’s eyes roamed my form, but not at all sexually. His jaw rigid, he looked angry for the state of me. With a single nod, Duane reached up to ruffle his hair. “Good man.”
The young man stepped forward and held out his hand. I stared at it a moment before I took it, and he helped me up, wrapping an arm around me in support. Duane went behind the counter and took a set of keys off the wall, throwing them to Wyatt, and he caught them without even looking. Next thing I knew, I was being escorted to the room closest to the reception.
Wyatt opened the door and helped me inside to sit on the bed. “Ma’am, is there anyone we can call for you?”
I shook my head slowly and whispered, “I don’t have anyone.”
And I didn’t.
Not anymore.
He stood looking down at me, his eyes hard. “Ain’t no man got the right to put his hands on a woman.”
I agreed with him. “Yeah.”
When Wyatt squatted down in front of me, I saw so much of his father and grandfather in him that I felt like I knew this family better than I knew my own. “You need something? I’ll be happy to get it for you,” he asked.
A reluctant smile spread my lips, and I dipped my chin. My eyes no longer tearing, I finally saw the state of me. My ripped pants and dirt-streaked blouse mocked me. “I need clothes.” My slight smile intensified. “But I wouldn’t torture you by sending you to get them for me.”
He stood, his words firm. “What size are you?”
And I silently knew he needed to do this for me. I peeked up at him. “A petite zero.”
On his way out, just as I was about to tell him to take some money from the duffle, he turned and walked backward, reaching into his pocket and bringing out a wad of cash I was sure Duane had slipped him.
He stood at the doorframe and ordered, “Don’t open the door for anyone.”
This late teen showing the strength of a man made me smile again. “Okay.”
Wyatt looked down at the ground, a frown on his face as he battled internally with himself. “I think we should have a password, ma’am. For when I come back.”
“Sure,” I uttered in a placating tone.
He stood straight and looked me in the eye. “I’ll knock twice and say I have a delivery for Miss Zero.”
“That will be fine, Wyatt,” I conceded. After all, he was only trying to help me.
Reaching out to pull the door shut behind him, he poked his head in. “PawPaw— I mean, Duane wants a word.”
He was waiting for my approval. The sweetheart.
I inclined my head in silent permission, and Duane pushed open the door, striding in, holding a fo
lded bundle of clothing. He looked mildly uncomfortable about his offering, slapping it down on the bed and declaring, “Figured you’d need something to sleep in, darlin’. These are Wyatt’s. His thinner than both Jimmy and me—who, by the way, is proper chuffed to know you’re breathing.”
My smile was genuine, more so when I caught his light flush. “Thank you so much, Duane. You’ve been too kind.”
He was already off, clearly bothered by the praise. With a wave of his arm, he turned away to exit. “Don’t think on it. Now, lock up after me. We don’t want them bad guys coming to get you again.”
I made my way over to the door, standing with my hand resting on the handle. “Thanks again, Duane.” I closed the door halfway, looking him in the eye. “But the people who got me the last time were the good guys.”
The look on his face as I shut the door on him said it all.
I was sure I left Duane wondering about what the bad guys would do once they got a hold of me, if the good guys were the ones who had caused so much damage.
An hour passes and Wyatt is yet to return from the store.
It doesn’t matter though. The clothes Duane brought me will suffice for the night. I lie in the stiff but clean bed, wearing one of Wyatt’s soft cotton plaid shirts and nothing else.
The yoga pants I wore just hours ago were now littered with holes. My shirt had buttons ripped off it. The only thing I could reuse was the bra and panties, which I washed in the sink with shampoo and hung to dry over the shower curtain rod.
Before I showered, I turned on the bathroom light, and my feet took me to stand in front of the mirror hanging over the vanity.
I was shocked by my reflection.
Not only was my face covered in dirt, mud-streaked from my tears, but the corner of my lip had split, bleeding right down to my chin. I definitely looked worse than I first imagined, and the shower was calling my name.
I felt grimy with the fine dust from the gravelly road coating my hair and small pebbles hiding in and between my clothing.
The water was scorching when I stepped under the spray, but I needed it to be. I needed to feel cleansed in the way that only hot water could provide. The scrapes and cuts on my legs throbbed, as did the split in my lip, but after I was done, the shower had proved to be a form of therapy. I felt better about this whole situation.