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“There was a delay. Some kind of accident on the highway. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“We might not be here in a few minutes,” I snap, with another look over my shoulders. “Get here faster. I don’t want this hospital to turn into another massacre.”
I hear tires screeching against the asphalt. “How many men did you bring with you?”
“Four. It’s all I could spare given the circumstances.”
I curse and run a hand over my face. “There’s six of them. I knocked one out, but the rest are still alive and kicking. Think you can handle that?”
“Don’t worry about it, boss.”
“Don’t tell me not to worry,” I warn with a shake of my head. “I want results.”
Lorenzo mutters something under his breath, and I choose to ignore him.
I end the call and push the phone back into my pocket. After what feels like an eternity, Ernesto’s heavy breathing fills the room. He shuffles over to where I’m sitting and kneels down. Then he says something in a low voice and waits.
“What the fuck are you doing? Now isn’t the time to be religious.”
Ernesto stands up and twists to face me. “Lorenzo and the others took care of it. Hughes’ men have been taken care of.”
“Discreetly?”
“As discreetly as possible,” Ernesto replies with a grimace. “Some of the hospital staff might be suspicious, but we did our best to contain it.”
I rip off the wig and sunglasses. “I want those fucking discharge papers to be signed. Now.”
“Boss, neither of them is in any shape to be moved.”
“Are you suggesting we let them become sitting ducks?”
Ernesto takes a step back and shakes his head. “No, of course not.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” I stuff the wig, glasses, and coat into the empty plastic bag Ernesto has. Then I hand it to him and brush past him at a brusque pace, with my head held high. In the hallway, I feel several pairs of eyes on me, but I ignore them all and go straight to Tristan’s room. Through the glass, I see Paul pacing while Sam sits on the couch, hands fluttering nervously at her sides.
The door bangs open, and Paul wheels around with a flinch. “Carter, what are you doing?”
Tristan pushes himself up so he’s propped against the pillow. “How’s Isabella?”
“Agitated but stable,” I respond through gritted teeth. “We need to come up with a fucking plan. When can you move?”
“I don’t know, Carter. I’ve been stabbed.”
I wave his comment away. “You’ve been stabbed, shot, and beaten before. How is this any different?”
“Rich was trying to kill me,” Tristan responds after a lengthy pause. “He dug the knife in, and he tried to leave it there, too.”
Silence settles over the room.
Sam jumps to her feet. “Whatever you’re planning, keep Tristan out of it. He’s done enough.”
“It’ll be enough when I fucking say it is,” I bite without looking at her. “Tristan knows what we do, and he knows the risks in our line of work.”
Sam steps into my field of vision. “I’m not going to let you take him. If you want him, you’re going to have to go through me.”
I look at Tristan over her shoulder, who looks amused, and then I glance back at her. “We’ve done this song and dance already. Now, I suggest you stay out of my way.”
Sam lifts her chin up and squares her shoulders. “Or what?”
