My heart thumps faster. If the unexpected news won’t stop soon, I might really end up with a coronary. “He’s coming?”
“Oh, he’s coming, alright.” He spins me around to face the way I came. “He’s on his way. My job is to keep you safe until he arrives, so do me a favor and cooperate.”
I cast him a sideways glance as he falls into step beside me. “Who are you?”
“Me? Call me Johnny.” He places his hand on the small of my back, pushing me gently toward the room. “Now, get to bed and let Mark check you over. I think you pulled the stitches on your thigh. You’re bleeding.”
“Don’t look,” the doc clips immediately. “I’ll take care of it, just don’t look, okay? I hear you don’t do well with blood.”
“I don’t,” I admit, laying back on the bed, eyes on the ceiling. “How did you know? Oh, and... sorry about your head.”
“I had Dante on the phone five minutes ago. Whatever you need, I’ll do my best to make it happen as long as you stay in this room.”
“Right, I think you’ve got this, so I’ll leave you to it,” Johnny says from where he stands in the doorway. “Shout out if you need help.”
“Yeah, that won’t happen either,” Mark huffs, the sound coming out amused. “Dante said no one but me can come in this room, so you better back away.”
Johnny chuckles. “I wasn’t talking to Layla. I was talking to you. You know, in case birdy here whacks you over the head with something else.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dante
After nine hours in the car, two nights without sleep, and two weeks of functioning mainly on coffee, whiskey, and cigarettes, I’m on my last legs, but I’d run a thousand miles from Chicago to Dallas if Layla waited at the end of the road.
Rookie’s still at the wheel, raring to go and refusing to let me drive. My phone rings every so often all through the night. Blake’s son, Johnny, called twice, reporting a dead body. Ten hours passed since Layla’s admission to the hospital, and already two hitmen had tried their luck in getting to her before me.
I glance at the dashboard, clenching my fists. The fuel gauge slipped into the reserve, and the hospital is still over fifty miles away. I take my cell phone out to call Nate, who sits behind the wheel of the second Charger. “Pull over at the next gas station.”
“Yeah, okay. We’re almost dry too.”
He managed to overtake us a few miles back when Rookie’s girl called, distracting his focus off the road for a few seconds. Nate made it a point of honor not to let Rookie back in the lead. It’s their way of staying entertained and alert, so Rookie let him have a moment of fun. Ten minutes later, we stop at the station, and Rookie jumps out of the car in sync with me to stretch his legs.
“You want anything?” I motion to the shop.
“Chewing gum and water.” He inserts the nozzle into the fuel tank. “Argh, shit, get me a coffee. Large. And sugar. Lots of white sugar.”
Jane forced him on a fancy cleansing diet, and he’s been torturing himself with homemade salads and lemon-infused water for a whole week now. Cai pulls up behind us and kills the engine when the passenger side door opens.
“I love this car, but next time I’m taking my Range Rover,” Jackson groans, stretching out like a cat. “I didn’t realize how uncomfortable these are for longer journeys.”
Cai rolls his eyes, glancing at me. “He’s been whining like this since Arkansas. Can he ride with you now? I can’t promise I won’t kill him before we get there.”
Jackson is ruthless, sometimes even sadistic, but he’s comically delicate too. He could break half the bones in a man’s body with his fist, then walk around with a cold compress for three days, complaining that his hand hurts.
We’re back on the road moments later. As anticipated, the last thirty miles stretch like bubble gum. The closer we get, the more anxious I become, fidgeting in my seat, unsure what the fuck will happen when I see Layla again. I call Johnny ahead of time so he can meet us outside.
He waits by the main entrance to the hospital, a carbon copy of his father, just thinner. “You made a fair amount of time up on the way.” He shakes my hand when I approach with Spades and Nate on my sides, two steps behind. “This is Mark. I thought you ought to know how Layla is.”
Mark moves the weight of his body from one foot to another, staring me in the eye. He’s older than I expected, probably in his fifties. Deep wrinkles surround his eyes as if he smiled too much in his life. “She’s good. Awake, alert.”
“She’s a feisty one,” Johnny adds. “She knocked Mark over his head with a tray last night when he tried to stop her from seeing her cousin.”
I can’t help but smile when my entourage barks out a laugh. “Yeah, nothing new there. She is a handful.” Good job I’ve got two hands. “I assume her cousin was in the car too. Where is she now?”
“Yes. Jean and two guys. They’re waiting for you in the cafeteria. Bugged me all night to let them see Layla, but it’s your call.”
“Maybe later. Layla first, lead the way.”