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Marisa
My hands were balled into fists as I stood next to Chad Davis outside the hospital room.
“Can you stop that?”
“What?”
“I feel like you might take a swing at me if you don’t loosen up.”
“I just want to end this. We only get one shot.”
“If anyone can turn him, Atkins, you can.”
Davis had more faith in me than I did.
“He’s not answering my calls. Or my texts.”
“Tyler?” he asked for confirmation.
“Yup.” I gave him a quick rundown of how we’d left things two nights ago.
“Look, you have to try and understand what it was like,” Davis began. “He thought you were dead when he found you. Shot and bleeding. When you came to, he was relieved. But then you passed out, and we almost lost you. Can’t you see what that did to all of us?”
“Yes, but—”
“Nobuts,” he countered. “You were tortured, Marisa . . . almost raped. You were shot and bleeding out.”
“I didn’t think I’d get out of there. I fought like hell. I had faith he’d find me. I knew he wouldn’t give up.”
“Your boyfriend’s a true-grit Billy the Badass.” His laugh was an appreciative grunt.
As morbid as this conversation was, I chuckled at Davis’s analogy.
“The guys said there was some ninja moving through the shadows with them.” This was something I hadn’t heard from anyone before now.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Guess he took a bunch of those A-holes out. It was quite a bloodbath in there. Maybe it was López himself making sure no one would be left who could talk.” Davis shook his head. “Not our problem anymore. Whoever it was made it all look like they turned against each other in some wild-wild-west shootout.”
As good of news as this might be on some level, it didn’t offer any comfort. “He still got away.”
“He did.” Davis wouldn’t placate me with weak words or unrealistic expectations. “He may have gotten away, along with some of his other goons, but I know we can get to him with this guy’s testimony.”
“I just want to know what happened to Guadalupe.” My hands clenched into fists again. “Still no word?”
“Nope. They’re being super tight-lipped about her.” He pulled me to his side in a brotherly hug. “Sometimes, we don’t get all the answers. Sometimes we just have to trust the system and keep doing the best we can to help save the ones we can.”
I squeezed him back and said, “Yeah.” I bent forward, rolled my shoulders, stood, and took a few steps forward. “Logically, I know you’re right,” I said over my shoulder. I turned and walked back to where he was. “I can’t let this shit go though. I don’t care if I can’t. It’s not some power trip I’m on or some sick need for vindication. I just want these streets safe.”
“We all do,” he agreed.
“And I’m not naïve, thinking they’ll ever be one hundred percent safe from everyone, everything. There will always be drugs. Always be gangs. Always be bad guys who we have to take down. But López? I never want to hear his name and our city used in the same sentence again. I want him gone. Dead and gone.”
“I know you do, Atkins.” He pressed his lips together, then sighed. “But you gotta accept the fact that that might never happen. And if and when it does . . . if and when we get lucky enough to make that happen . . . someone else is just going to take his place.”
“Can’t disagree with that logic. I just need this. For me. For JJ and Lupe.”
The nod of his head told me he understood where I was coming from.
