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Max
“So you decided to run in there and shoot the place up instead of calling the cops?” The federal officer standing next to my bed in the Emergency Room at Holy Name Hospital…I think he said his name was Torres…asks with a cocked eyebrow. “That doesn’t seem like a smart plan to me.”
I look at him and cock an eyebrow. “You think I was gonna risk my girl getting sold to Christ only knows who while I waited for the cops to get off their Krispy Kreme-eating asses to get their warrants in place?” I shake my head. “Not a shot in hell. I’m licensed to carry a firearm, and so are the other guys who were with me.”
“And your father? He was identified at the scene. How do you explain him being in the middle of that? He’s got a record about ten miles long and some known affiliations with the Bonnaros. You sure he wasn’t involved in some way?”
“He came to back me up. He didn’t want me to handle things alone. I don’t know anything about him and the Bonnaros.” I somehow manage to keep my voice even. Seeing him carried out of that place in a body bag…it’s something I never thought I’d personally witness. He knew he wouldn’t last…knew it was only a matter of time before that target on his forehead exploded.
He wanted to make things right…for all of us.
And he did.
It was his final play.
And it was fucking epic.
Thank you, Dad…
Torres narrows his eyes. “What are you not telling me, Max? Was your father with the Bonnaros? Was he involved with the trafficking ring they’d set up?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “I already told you everything. Layla DiVincenzo had been kidnapped by the Bonnaros and held as a sex slave, along with my girlfriend and a few others. Layla somehow escaped earlier today and came to find me. She told me the Bonnaros contracted with some buyers from overseas and made arrangements to sell her and the rest of the women, and—”
“I know, I know.” Torres rolls his eyes. “Big twist. The buyers were no-shows, you ran in to save the day, took out all the bad guys, and survived to tell the story. What a fucking hero. And, oh, by the way, the only evidence of a sale just happens to go up in smoke along with the alleged perpetrators when you took them out.”
“If you guys didn’t have all that red tape to cut through, you’d have been there before the shit hit the fan. Jesus, how the hell do you ever catch criminals?” I shake my head, knowing I’m just pissing him off even more than my lack of cooperation is. “Listen, Agent Torres, are we done here? I don’t have any more to tell you, and I’d like to talk to my mother and sister now, to tell them my dad is dead.” I grit my teeth, wishing like hell I had more morphine to get me through that conversation. I’d gladly take a bullet through my other shoulder to avoid dropping that bombshell on them.
Torres leans in close, his dark eyes narrowed. I guess this is how he does menacing. If I wasn’t laid up here at the hospital, he’d probably try to beat some more information out of me. “I think you know more than you’re letting on. But don’t worry, I’m gonna be back for more. Don’t think this is over, Max. We’re watching you and your pals Nico Salesi and Rocco Lucchese. You’re all on our radar.” He turns on his heel and moves toward the door, shoulders squared.
“Hey, Agent Torres.”
With a swift turn, he flashes a look of annoyance at me. I didn’t give him what he came for, but how much did he really think he’d ever get anyway? Is that why he waited to interrogate me? Did he think I’d give shit up just because there was morphine running through my veins? He doesn’t know shit about me.
“You never showed me your badge.”
He stares me down for what seems like a damn long minute until words actually come out of his mouth. “We’re watching you, Max. Don’t forget it.” With a hard glare, he turns his back on me and stalks out of the room, past the doctor on his way in. I grit my teeth. Yeah, I definitely need more drugs.
This life.
It becomes more toxic every day.
Someone is always watching.
And waiting to strike.
I don’t know who the fuck Torres is, but he knows us.
And he’ll be back.
They always come back.
The doctor looks up from my chart, his mouth stretching into a tight line. “How are you feeling, Max?”
“Like someone torched my right side and then sliced into me like I’m a fucking ribeye.” I lean back against the pillows and let out a deep sigh. “Any shot you can refresh my morphine?”
He stares at me, not making a move to do a damn thing. “I saw Sloane come in with you before.”
Fuck. This must be the doctor. I squint to read the name attached to his white coat, not that it matters. Dr. Steven Kiley. I scrub a hand down the front of my face, never in a million years thinking I’d run into him, now of all times. Not that I’d ever be able to pick him out of a lineup. The last time we met I’d been pretty beaten up and my eyes were probably still swollen shut enough not to get a good look at him.
