The monitors beep lightly, and the IV continues to pump fluid into Ana’s frail body.
“She’s bad, Julius.” Her voice cracks. “Really bad.” She clears her throat in an attempt to gain some composure in a situation that leaves us both feeling shattered. She tries to speak but shakes her head. I don’t miss the slight quiver of her lips when she states a quiet, “I mean, she died. I barely brought her back.” She turns and glances at me with a meaningful look when she utters a hushed, “She didn’t want to come back. And she would’ve stayed dead if I hadn’t managed to convince Vander to bring me along.”
I look down at this no-nonsense woman and can’t deny I see part of Twitch in her character. I’m undeniably sincere when I tell her, “I don’t know what to say to you. Thank-you doesn’t seem like enough.”
My appreciation has her scoffing. The small, fiery redhead looks over at me, her gaze dark, and she all but spits, “Don’t you dare thank me. I knew. I knew all along what they were doing to her, and I… she—” The first of her tears fall. She dips her chin and takes in a broken breath. Her tone tortured, she whispers a harsh, “I did nothing. Nothing.” She lifts her tear-streaked face to look over at her friend. “Look what he did to her. I don’t know if she’ll ever recover from this. And if she doesn’t, that’ll be on me.”
I understand guilt. I feel it standing here, right at this very moment. Neither of us is completely blameless in what happened to Ana. I would love to pin the blame on somebody—anybody—but I can’t. If Manda knew about the abuse Ana took and did nothing, something tells me there was a reason for it. It’s clear to me that Manda loves Ana.
The thought of losing the Ana I love is too much to bear, so I say the only thing I can think of. “She’s tough. She’ll make it through.” But I don’t sound as confident as I ought to.
Her list of injuries is extensive, the worst being her amputated finger, a fractured wrist, and a broken ankle, but Manda and I both know it’s not the physical wounds we need to worry about.
How far can you stretch a rubber band before it snaps?
My feet carry me to her bedside. I slip my shoes off and slide in beside her, gently taking hold of her small, cold hand, and I rub at it, careful to avoid the IV settled in the back of it. Her left arm covered in a plaster cast up to just below her elbow, the ring finger on her left hand missing, I want to roar out my anger when my gaze settles on her bandaged face.
Manda’s friend, a highly sought plastic surgeon in these parts, came when called. He did all he could to save Ana’s face from the deep gash Maxim Nikulin inflicted, but he advised us it would likely take more than one surgery to make it unnoticeable, and that all depended on how well Ana healed.
Doctors were afraid for Ana. She had developed a hardcore case of anxiety in our time at the hospital. When one nurse came in to top up her morphine, Ana took one look at the shot and started to sweat bullets while gasping for breath. She passed out cold and Manda suggested that perhaps it was better for everyone if Ana remained sedated throughout her hospital stay.
I didn’t like it, but I comprehended the need for it.
Ana was scared to death at the thought of being hurt. Pain was her trigger, and it broke my damn heart to watch her go through her first panic attack.
When her hooded eyes open a mere slit, my chest aches from the sheer beauty of her living, breathing form. “Hey, baby.”
She swallows hard then breathes out, “Hi.”
“How are you feeling?” It’s a stupid question, but one I am obligated to ask.
The heart monitor chirps as her heart rate spikes. “No more doctors,” she whispers.
I hate this. “No, baby. Doctors are good. The doctors are helping.”
Her lip quivers, she clutches at my hand like a lifeline, and when she croaks out a tearful, “Take me home. I just want to go home. Let’s go home, Julius,” my gut coils in misery.
The heart monitor begins to beep loudly as her distress rises, and I know it won’t be long before a nurse enters with a sedative for my girl.
Three more days and I can take her home.
I frown at the thought.
But where is home?
I need to get Ana away from here. I need to take her somewhere we can do us, somewhere warm and comfortable and calm.
And I have just the place in mind.
The moment the nurse enters, I look my girl in the eye and make my vow. “You trust me, baby?”
Not a second of hesitation. Her answer is pleading, desperate. “Yes.”
Shit.
I don’t deserve this woman.
“When the doc says you’re good to go, I’m going to take care of you, and I’m going to do that somewhere far away from here. Okay?”
The nurse injects the sedative into Ana’s IV, just as she responds, “Okay.”
“You and me, babe,” I whisper, rubbing my thumb along hers.
The sedative kicks in and she loosens her grip on my hand as her lids flutter closed. Her tone dreamy, she mutters a soft, “You and me, babe. Love you.”
I know she can’t hear me any longer, but it doesn’t matter to me. I say it, because it needs to be said. “I love you, Ana.” And I fucking do. So much it hurts.
Crazy in love is a dangerous position for a sane man to be in.
The plans form in my head as I lay by my wife’s side and I plan to call to Lexi in the morning to give her time to prepare for our arrival.
“You disappeared on me. You know how I feel about that.”
Ethan Black is in a pissy mood, and I feel a mild sense of satisfaction in knowing that the longer he and his family are separated, the more irritated he gets. Maybe now he has some small understanding about how I feel.
It was a long night. I’m so fucking tired. I just want to sleep.
Agitation rattles me. I lift my head off the pillow of the cheap motel room bed, and grunt, “Fuck. I’m back, aren’t I?” With that, I throw my heavy head back down onto the thin pillow with a groan.
The quiet comes so quickly that I don’t question it. But when something is slapped down onto the bed beside me, I open my eyes to find a large yellow envelope there and Black, dressed in a suit and tie, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at me. He jerks his chin to the envelope.
I sit up, open it, and peer inside. My mouth parts in silent shock. I look over at Black before reaching inside and pulling out the passport, birth certificate, and current driver’s license. My brows furrow in confusion. “What is this?”
Black pins me with a stare. “I don’t know where you were last night or who you were with, but we got a tip off that led to Claudio Conti’s arrest sometime after 2:00 a.m.”
“No shit,” I mut
ter without implication.
Damn.
MacDiarmid works fast.
“Yeah. No shit.” Black’s not impressed. He blinks, watching me closely. “About an hour ago, a couple of NYPD cops discovered the body of Maxim Nikulin in a dumpster behind a club called The White Rabbit, along with the body of Gio Gambino.”
I feign ignorance. “Who?”
Black sniffs a laugh, shaking his head. He’s onto me. He’s also not amused. “Where were you last night, Twitch?”
I don’t want to lie, so I improvise. “Wasn’t anywhere near The White Rabbit, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Black places his hands on his hips and sighs loudly before dropping his hands to his sides and meeting my eyes. “Antonio Falco, you are no longer under any obligation to the FBI. By one means or another, you’ve fulfilled your end of our bargain, and you’re free to go.”
A steady flow of shock numbs me from the toes up.
When Black lifts his duffle over his shoulder and moves toward the door, it’s clear there will be no heartfelt good-byes.
Thank fuck.
Before he exits the room, he pauses in the doorway and turns back to me. “Not many people get a second chance like this, Falco.” His brows rise. “Try not to screw it up.”
“Not a chance,” escapes me, and I mean it.
Black nods slowly in understanding. I worked hard for this moment. I wasn’t about to fuck up anytime soon. He takes a moment, then utters a quiet, “Cherish every moment with him. You only get a few short years of them begging to be around you.” A sad smile forms on his lips when he shrugs. “Before you know it, he’ll be sixteen, and you’ll be begging him to spend time with you.”
It’s good advice. I don’t take it lightly. “Will do.”
A moment of thoughtful silence passes.
“Good-bye, Twitch. I hope to never see you again.” Black grins. “And I mean that in the best way possible.” He lifts his hand in a lazy wave then lets himself out, shutting the door behind him.
Well, shit.
I don’t know what to do with myself.
So I do nothing.