I hate to see him in pain, but I’m glad he’s awake. The boys at home will stitch him up real good, so there shouldn’t be any concern with his recovery. The only issue we have now is rescheduling with the Pirus gang. If James was prompt— and he usually is— he would have heard the gunshots, probably freed before anything crazy happened. Like I said, they don’t pick fights or stick their noses in other people's unless it’s one of the guys.
Too bad we didn’t make the deal before shit went down. We could have had their backup and killed both of those Bratva scum.
We pull up to the house, and I shoot a text to Vince to send one of the medical guys out. We have about ten trained medics, so it makes for a very smooth and discreet stitch-up after any excursion. As soon as we carry Knox inside, a couple of the boys are waiting to take him from us. We hand him over immediately, and they rush him down to the kitchen as I dial Jamerson.
“Hey, man! Are y'all okay?” He answers before I even say hello. Classic James that he’s not furious I missed our meeting.
“Kind of. Knox got shot.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Fucking Russians, bro.”
“Fucking Russians. We got stopped by one of them after we heard some gunshots, but he got distracted by something before I could pull out my .22 on him.”
“Idiot.” I chuckle.
“Hey, it’s fine, man. I’m glad you’re not hurt. We could reschedule for dinner?”
“Yeah! Why don’t you just come down to Pops’, and we can make it a family affair?”
“That’s great. I’ll be there. Can we make it by 8 p.m.?”
“Great. See you then!”
“Alright, man.” We end the call, and I notice eyes on me from my peripherals. Vince is staring at me, and I’m not sure what this look is. It’s a mixture of sadness and something else.
“Yes?” I slowly ask, not really wanting him to answer because I don’t need my ass chewed out.
“You handled that with finesse.” I clench my jaw so it doesn’t drop in shock at his words.
“Knox got shot—”
“But you worked around it and kicked ass. You did well.” He crosses to me and pulls me into a hug that I do not reciprocate out of pure befuddlement. He steps back when he realizes I’m uncomfortable and shakes his head with a grin. “Well, brother, I’ll get the chefs to prepare some courses for our guests tonight. I look forward to it.” I lower my head with a nod as he walks off. This is certainly a shocking day. I shake my head as I head down to the lower-level kitchen where we normally take out guys for stitch-ups.
I arrive just in time to see them digging a bullet out with liars. Knox is biting a t-shirt soaked inFernet Branca, and five guys hold him down as our medics work. I watch with a tightness in my chest that rarely happens unless I let those pesky nuances in. It fucking cuts to see someone you care about wounded on your watch. This thought alone nearly makes me double over when I realize I’ve led Lydia into a trap by asking her to meet me at the beach. If those Russians are still lurking around, she could be in serious danger.
Quickly, I scroll through my contacts and hit the call option. As it’s ringing, my breathing picks up like I’ve just run up every flight of stairs in my home. With each ring, I grow weary that something terrible has happened. The moment the ringing is half a second late, I begin to speak. “Lydia? Were you at the Pavilion at LaCuna beach this afternoon?” I say through short breaths, and Knox continues to yell out in pain as they stitch him up.
“What?” She says in a strange voice I can’t decipher.
“Are you safe?”
“Uhm, yes…”
“Did you not get my text?” I even my tone now, completely embarrassed by my reaction before knowing anything was wrong. What the fuck did I act like that. She seems okay, at least. Perhaps that is why my heartbeat has slowed to normal.
“I did. I just looked at it, though. Were you waiting for me? I can still make it—”
“No!” I quickly say, far too pleading. I clear my throat and correct my tone once more. “No. Um, it’s— apparently, there was some shooting or something at that beach. I hadn’t arrived yet when I heard it on the radio and turned right around.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Why is this awkward? We’re never awkward. Angry at each other more often than not, but never awkward. “Are we okay?”
“We?” She repeats, and I hear the smile in her voice.
“Did I say we?”