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Birdie gasped in horror as Lucas crumpled to the ground after being dragged off Errol and pistol-whipped by one of the guards. She tried to go to him, but a man the size of a tree trunk yanked her by the upper arm so hard it made her teeth rattle.
This couldn’t be happening.
This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.
With two guards holding an unconscious Lucas under each arm, they turned to Errol, who had his hand at his own throat, gasping for air.
A gorilla of a man with a nose that looked to have been broken a few times and ears the shape of cauliflower asked, “Do we escort him off the premises? Make sure he can’t make his way back inside for a while?”
Errol shook his head and pulled himself off the bed, coughing and sputtering. Hunched over, blood flow returning to his face, he sputtered, “Take him to the medical room and guard him. This time, try to do a better job of keeping him inside the room than you did guarding the house.”
Sensing Birdie a flight risk, an iron grip she hadn’t thought Errol capable of encircled her upper arm, allowing the guard to release her and tend to Lucas.
Errol hissed in her ear, “Don’t fucking move.”
It wasn’t until then that Birdie noticed a seething Ariana standing by the doorway. She swished into the room with her usual dramatic flair, wearing a sequined gown with a matching turban, as the guards dragged Lucas out and into the hallway.
Birdie’s heart crammed inside her throat as she listened to the guards dragging Lucas down the staircase.
Ariana turned to Errol with her chin in the air. “Who is that man?”
“That man, my darling, happens to be the mayor of Birdie’s hovel of a hometown.” Errol’s grip tightened, and Birdie pursed her lips so as not to cry out in pain. “Apparently, he rode in on his white horse to save his pathetic damsel in distress.”
Jealous rage sparked in Ariana’s eyes. Birdie never having seen the mother and son duo interacting as such an open couple. Ariana was clearly furious, assuming her son was canoodling with his wife in his mother’s absence.
What a messed-up family. These two were slowly making Shelby Wellborn into a model of motherly domestic bliss.
Ariana’s eyes turned to slits as she took in Birdie’s clothing, or lack thereof. “And what, may I ask, do you think you’re doing with her, dressed in such unseemly attire, in your bedroom?” Marching into the room, she snatched up the robe Errol had flung on a nearby chair and threw it at Birdie, who caught the garment and held it against her torso.
“I brought her here to secure our future.” He began to lead Birdie out the door, and over his shoulder, said, “Call Dr. Hillsboro and tell him we’re going to need his assistance. It appears he has a patient to tend to.”
“Where are you taking her?” Ariana asked, more concerned with what was going on between her son and Birdie than with Lucas.
Errol paused, as if trying to calm his temper. “I’m taking her to her room and locking her inside until we determine next steps. Did you secure the additional funding?”
“Of course. Those backwoods rednecks couldn’t wait to invest more money into their squalid little town.”
Wait. The Pinkie Posse? They gave hermoremoney?
Errol led Birdie by the arm as he opened a small drawer to a desk, retrieving a key.
“Call me as soon as Dr. Hillsboro arrives. I want to make sure our misguided hero sleeps for a very long time.”
Before Birdie could get her head around the conversation, Errol was dragging her out the door, through the hallway overlooking the first story, and then to the opposite wing of the house.
As he made the next turn, she almost failed to notice Flynn standing in the shadows behind a potted plant.
Thank God for Flynn.
Errol opened her door and shoved her inside.
“You’re no longer permitted to leave the room. If you do, I’ll see that your boyfriend never opens his eyes again and that Pearl becomes fish bait in the Charles River. Do you understand me?”
She nodded, unconsciously rubbing her arm as he closed the door, sealing her fate with the turn of a key.
Then again, maybe not.
