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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CARMEN
He lays the gun down, then pushes the man in front of him out of the way and rushes toward me. “He hurt you!” he shouts, grabbing my right arm that’s bandaged at the bicep.
“I’m chipped,” I reply, trying to pull away from his hold, but he won’t let me go.
Slowly, he undoes the bandage, revealing the small incision held together by two stitches. “We have to get this out.”
I knew that would be the first thing he would want, but the thought of being cut open once again isn’t appealing.
“We can take it out, but then what? He already knows where you are, Cyrus. I don’t understand why he would even chip her in the first place.” The other man finally speaks.
I look at him over Cyrus’s shoulder. He’s tall—really tall—has sparkling blue eyes and blond hair, but regardless of his beauty, I can tell he’s the same type of man as Cyrus. It’s evident in the way he moves and holds his weapon.
Another killer. Great.
Cyrus follows my line of sight to the man and answers the question I haven’t even voiced. “This is Hatcher. We can trust him. He’s a longtime friend and now ally.”
I nod. I don’t need to know anything else. Honestly, my mind is already at max capacity with bullshit. If Cyrus says we can trust him, that’s all I need. I’m not going to overanalyze why he could be wrong. I mentally can’t handle it. I haven’t even had the time to unpack all the shit Ghost told me. Sure, there was evidence, but how can I really trust the words of a man I don’t even know. A man who claims to have murdered my mother.
“And he’s doing it to watch our moves,” Cyrus continues, pulling me from my thoughts. “He’ll try and strike when he thinks we’re vulnerable.”
Hatcher shakes his head. “This feels like a setup. Why would he even let her go?”
I bite my lip. Him talking like I’m not standing right here is frustrating, but I let it go. “He let me go to see if I’m serious. It almost seemed too easy,” I start thinking out loud. “But I know where they took me, so that could help.”
Both of their eyes snap to mine. “Serious about what?” Cyrus asks, ignoring everything else I said.
“Taking him up on a job. Him chipping me is only the tip of the big fucked-up iceberg he hit me with, but I convinced him if he let me go, I’d bring you back along with money I plan to extort from my dad. He’s pissed that he’s out however much B was going to pay.”
“And he’s probably lost a few clients if they’ve heard about this,” Hatcher adds.
Cyrus shakes his head, then walks to where I abandoned my bag earlier. He picks it up and rummages inside before finally pulling out my cigarette pack I keep my stash in. Opening it, he shakes the half-smoked joint and lighter into his hand.
“Here.” He brings it to my lips. Once the joint is tucked between them, he sparks the lighter. “First things first, we need to get that out.” He motions to my arm.
“Then what?”
“Once we figure out a solid plan, I’ll take it. I’ll get on a plane so he thinks you’re running. Which means you both need to fly under the radar. If he figures out it’s me, then whatever we come up with will go to shit.” Hatcher says, pulling my attention to him.
I take another deep drag from the joint. “Then let’s figure things out and get this thing out of me.”
Blowing the smoke out, I plop onto the couch. As Hatcher pulls a knife from his boot, Cyrus moves into the kitchen. While we wait, I keep my eyes on Hatcher. I know Cyrus said we can trust him, but he also said it’s the very men and women who do what he does who would be hunting him, and that just makes me feel uneasy.
I know this fucking giant is the last thing I should be worried about right now, and I told myself I wouldn’t think into him, but it’s hard.
When Cyrus exits the kitchen and makes his way back to me, I push the thoughts away. Right now, I’d rather focus on something good. I may not know Hatcher, but he is risking his own life by taking this chip. That says enough. At least for now.
“Okay,” he says, squatting in front of me with a bottle of liquor in hand. “This is going to hurt, but it should be quick.”
I nod, take another puff of my joint, thankful it seems to be relaxing me a bit, then lean back into the couch and extend my arm to him.
“Hatch.” He tips his head from Hatcher to me, and even in my semi-inebriated state, I know what that means.
I squeeze my eyes shut as he moves toward me. First, I feel the cool liquid hit my arm, then I feel Hatcher’s weight on me, holding my body in place with his as his hands lock around my arm. At first the pressure is nice. It calms my haywire nerves and slows my racing heart, but then the pain comes.
Searing fire shoots through my bicep. At least with Ghost, he made Burly Bob jab me with some Lidocaine, but the effects of it have long gone. I bite my tongue from screaming out as I feel Cyrus insert a finger into the gash. He moves around slowly, prolonging my torture, until I feel him hit the small device. Another swirl with his finger, and then he removes it.
