“Yeah, go ahead. He’s awake,” Cillian says. “We’ll wait here.”
I take a few steps into the exam room. My stomach drops to my shoes when I pull back the curtain.
Shit, he looks even worse than what Cillian described. His left eye is nearly swollen shut, a dark purple stain covering the whole side of his face. A thick white bandage covers the side of his head where they stitched him up. His hair and shirt are caked with dried blood.
But his good eye focuses on me when I inch toward the gurney, and a weak grin lifts his lips.
“Hey, Loch,” he mumbles.
“You doing okay, G?” I ask. “You’re not looking too hot right now, I’ve gotta tell you.”
“You should see the other guys.”
I grab the chair next to his bed and pull it close to him. “What the hell happened?”
“Three guys jumped me outside O'Brien’s.” He winces when he tries to shift in my direction.
“Why the fuck were you by yourself? Where was your security? They’re supposed to be on you twenty-four seven after the Russian threat,” I say, anger bubbling in my veins. Heads are gonna fucking roll when I get my hands on Danny and Mikey, who should have seen those assholes coming and handled them before they could breathe the same air as my brother.
“I just needed to run in to grab my jacket,” he says. “I told them to stay in the car. I ran around to the front of the bar anddidn’t even make it in the door before they grabbed me. Someone hit Danny over the head when he got out of the car to investigate. And then another one of those assholes slashed the tires so Mikey couldn’t follow them after they beat the hell outta me.”
“Motherfuckers. Did you recognize them?”
“No. But one of them had a Russian accent.” His jaw tightens. “They said something about sending a message. That nobody's safe.”
My hands curl into fists. The Russians went after my youngest brother to send a message to Adriana, to me, to my father. They used Gavin to prove they could reach anyone connected to either family. And they were smart enough to take out his security first.
“How's Danny?” I ask.
“He’s got a concussion. They're checking him out down the hall.” Gavin lets out a sigh. “Fuck. This is my fault. I should've been more careful.”
“This isn't on you, G. This is on the bastards who did it.”
Footsteps approach behind me and a doctor walks in with a tablet in her hand. She looks young, maybe early thirties, her expression stoic. No-nonsense. Reminds me of Adriana.
“Good news,” she says in a crisp voice. “The CT scan came back clear. No bleeding, no swelling, no skull fracture. You've got a concussion, which means you'll need to take it easy for the next week or two. Headaches, dizziness, and light sensitivity are all normal, so don’t panic if you experience any of those.” Her eyebrows pull together. “But you got lucky, Mr. Molloy. If that hit had been a few more inches in the wrong direction, I’d be having a very different discussion with your family.”
Lucky. The word echoes in my head. My twenty-one-year-old brother got his skull nearly cracked open in a parking lot, and she says he’s lucky.
What the fuck?
“Can he go home?” I ask.
“We'd like to keep him for observation overnight, just to be safe. But as long as everything stays stable, he can be discharged tomorrow morning.”
She turns to Gavin and gives him some instructions about rest and follow-up appointments before leaving the curtained-off area. I slump back in my chair and let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” I say.
“Scared the shit out of myself.” He tries to smile but winces again. “Is Adriana okay? If they came after me to send a message?—”
“She's fine. She's with her family. Her dad woke up from the coma today.”
“No shit? That's good news, right?”
“Yeah. It is.” I toy with the blanket on the gurney. “Listen, I need to make some calls. You good for a few minutes?”
He lets out a little snort then groans. “Like I’m going anywhere.”
