Who’d told me that Wren was taken by ‘some guy named Josh.’
And that Whitney had gone to save her sister.
Shit.
Goddamnit.
What the fuck?
“How long?” I asked, whipping his cell out of his hand and dialing my mom’s number.
“Five minutes. Tops,” he insisted.
“Did you call the cops?”
“No. Not yet. I was…”
“Don’t,” I cut him off. “That guy? He is a cop,” I added, watching as the guy’s eyes widened, seeming to put all the pieces together in a blink, then giving me a nod. “Ma. Give me Lorenzo’s number now. Ma, I don’t have time for this. I know you want more grandchildren. Jesus fucking… no, I know. I won’t take his name in vain. Ma, I mean it. Family emergency shit. I need Lorenzo’s number.”
Leave it to your mother to lecture you about being single while two women’s lives were hanging in the balance.
“Enz, it’s Anthony,” I said as soon as he answered. “We got a problem. Whitney’s sister was taken by that shitbag ex of hers. And Whitney went after her. Yeah. Okay. I’m at the diner. Long story,” I added when he questioned why I hadn’t gone to save Wren. “Yeah. Okay. Right. Good. Yeah, you can get me on this number,” I assured him, not bothering to ask the owner if I could cop his phone.
“Is Wren going to be okay?” the guy asked after I finished my call.
“What? She your girl?”
“No. Not yet. I mean, I hope one day,” he added, uncomfortable. “She’s not gonna want me now,” he claimed, hanging his head.
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t protect her.”
“Listen, I’m not the comforting sort of guy. But I can say by looking at you that it looks like you put up a hell of a fight. I mean, no offense, but it doesn’t look like you’ve ever hit a gym, so it’s impressive you fought hard enough to bust open those knuckles. This girl, if she’s anything like her big sister, she will be over-the-fucking-moon that you’d done what you could. Even if, in the end, it just wasn’t your lucky day.”
“Hey, you,” I called as a busser moved past, eyeing us carefully. “I’m gonna need you to take over for Whitney for a while, okay?” I asked. “Give you five grand to do it and not say shit about this. Same for you,” I said to the cook through the window. “Not a fucking word to the shithead boss of yours, and you get five-k for keeping this place running for the night.”
No one turned me down, not with that kind of money on the line.
So I hobbled my ass behind the counter to get the poor guy who’d lost Whit’s sister some ice and paper towels to clean off the blood.
It was probably all of fifteen minutes before my brother was bursting into the diner, his gaze falling on me.
“Jesus Christ. The fuck, Ant?” he asked, waving a hand up and down me.
“Long story that ends with a hit-and-run and me getting here too late. So I might need some fucking Witness Protection after Salvatore finds out what is going down.”
“Salvatore is already on his way to go get Whit and Wren,” Emilio said, jerking his chin toward the guy at the counter.
“Ah, this is…”
“Liam,” the guy supplied.
“Right. Liam. He’s hoping to bag Whit’s sister some day.”
“Looks like you got a chance,” Emilio said, looking over his injuries. “You need to see a doctor?”
“I’m fine. I think,” Liam said. “I think I bruised some ribs,” he added.