I turn, looking for him, and I realize he’s shoved me back into the SUV. His eyes meet mine through the rearview mirror.
″I’m fine, Scotty. Thank you,” I say.
″No worries. Let’s go home and get you a cup of tea.”
I nod, not wanting to reply and already know that he’s going to tell Callum what happened, if he hasn’t already.
″Did that officer hurt you, Haley?”
I shake my head, looking out the window.
″Are you sure, Haley? You can tell me if he did. Just because he’s a cop, doesn’t mean he can’t harm you.”
I laugh at that. Isn’t that exactly what it means? Jason is a prime example that cops can get away with way worse things than murder.
The car ride is silent the rest of the way home. Scotty opens my door, and follows me inside. “I’m fine now, Scotty. You can go,” I say.
″I’m not leaving your side until I know you’re okay, Doc.”
I don’t argue, but do rummage through my liquor cabinet and settle for a bottle of tequila.
Just one shot to make the ache go away.
One shot turns into half the bottle, when Scotty dips upstairs to make a phone call. To Callum, no doubt. But it worked. There are no more triggers clouding my mind. No more Jason hurting me, or angry Drake dressed in his police uniform and getting into my face. Neither of them can hurt me. Not while there’s alcohol in my veins, and with Scotty here.
Chapter twelve
Bloodcoversmysuitas I stand in front of Lucky Wilson. Declan pries his mouth open and pulls out a second tooth. He doesn’t flinch as Lucky’s screams fill the air.
I normally leave this shit for Declan or a soldier, but today is a special occasion. Lucky’s been working for Da for ten years, and last week we noticed he’s been meeting with the Russians. We’re not sure why yet. But we’ll know soon. Declan finishes removing the tooth, and steps back, wiping his bloodied hands on a crisp white towel.
″How many more teeth should I have Declan take, Lucky?” I step closer and squat so that I’m eye-level with him. “Tell us before it gets really bad for you.”
″I’m a dead man either way,” Lucky says. He stares at me, blood dripping from his mouth.
I open mine to speak, but the ringing of my phone pulls me away and I glance at the screen. Scotty. He’s been sending me text updates on Haley, so for him to be calling, something must be wrong. I put the phone to my ear. “What is it, Scotty?”
″Boss. Listen. She’s fine now, but there was a little incident at the hospital.” His words are meant to calm me, but they don’t help.
″What kind of incident?” I ask. I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep from yelling at him.
″The copper. He confronted her. Wanted to know why she was blowing him off, and she freaked out. I’ve never seen anything like it. The poor girl hid behind me like a scared little puppy. She couldn’t even breathe. I got her the fuck out of there, but she’s not doing too good, boss. She’s sitting on the couch drinking tequila straight from the bottle.”
Bloody hell. Scotty’s updates all week have been great. He said she hadn’t drank at all, and she was doing better. She was sleeping better, eating more, running more. Having Scotty with her was helping ease her anxiety. And I stayed away because she seemed broken, in need of healing and I didn’t want to fuck it up, but now that she is falling apart again, and I don’t want her going through it alone. We may be just getting to know each other, but the pull I feel to be with her is overwhelming. “Well, what did that fucker say to her?”
″He got angry. You know, face all red and contorted like he had to take a shit and he stepped forward. His demeanor was hostile and she lost it.”
″I’m on my way. Get that bloody bottle away from her.” I grind my teeth as I hang up the phone. “I’ll be back. Keep him alive.”
Declan nods as I leave the warehouse. I had the common sense to remove my vest and jacket before interrogating Lucky, so as I climb into the backseat of the Tahoe, grab an extra shirt from under the seat, and start to change.
″Where are we going, boss?” Cillian asks as he turns on the car.
″Haley’s.”
″I told him not to tell you.” Haley rolls her eyes as she opens her oven and shoves a frozen pizza inside. “I’m fine.”
Except, she isn’t fine. Her panic attack at the hospital proves it. So does the empty bottle of tequila on the counter. She’s changed from her scrubs into a tank top and shorts, and her hair is wet from a shower. I glance around the apartment, not finding any other alcohol out in the open. I heave a sigh, dragging my hand through my hair.