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Oh, god. Ashton. My heart sank.
She kept on, a second tear falling, “I had no life in medical school. Undergrad. Med school, biology, chemistry, anatomy and physiology, none of it came naturally to me. I had to study, for hours. I didn’t go to parties on the weekends. I didn’t get wasted after my finals. I studied for the next exam, the next class. I studied ahead, and it’s all moot now, but I need you to understand.”
I blinked, looking around, but it seemed she was solely focused on me. “Understand what?”
I was trying to understand what she was telling me, even if it wasn’t making sense. She was saying something. I had to figure it out.
“I was lonely. Sometimes, you get so lonely. You sacrifice so much. Give up so much, and then you get a glimpse at something you never had, and you only want that. I only wanted that. To not be lonely. When Ashton asked me out, I fell for him. I didn’t know better. I couldn’t read the signs that he wasn’t into me, that he was using me. I’m so pissed at myself for caring, for still caring.” She closed her eyes, and she almost started talking to herself. “He showed up again, but not to ask for another date. He educated me”—she was sounding bitter—“on who he was. On who Trace was. On how I should never call the police if any of their victims end up in the hospital, or I’d learn the true meaning of what Mafia meant. He intended to scare me, but he just hurt me. I asked around, learned the real deal about the mob. They exist. They operate where I work. I needed to get with the program. I learned. I got with the program. I never told a soul. I never raised another alarm about anyone who mysteriously showed up when the security cameras were on the fritz, or when there was a look from one nurse to the other. It’s always the same look. The same knowing look. Sloane wears it in eighty different shades. The nurses always know.” She looked at Nurse Sloane. “You always knew.”
“Nea.” Nurse Sloane took a step toward her, saying softly, “Please stop.” A lone tear slipped down her face.
Nea was shaking her head, her eyes not in this room. They were elsewhere, seeing something else or seeing someone else. A tortured expression was deep in her gaze. “I can’t. It’s too late, Sloane. It’s been too late for too long.”
“Molly, why do you have this picture here?” Pialto hissed, holding the picture. His entire arm was stretched toward me, straining. “I really, really feel like you need to answer me, and I don’t know why, but I do.”
Sophie was frowning, inching closer to see the picture.
Sloane looked, and her entire face blanched before she focused back on Nea.
Everything was happening in slow motion. Slow, but I wasn’t fast enough.
What was going on?
The picture. Ashton told me he brought the rest of the pictures here, if I wanted to keep looking, because we still didn’t know who that woman was.
I just hadn’t gotten through that group of pictures.
Sloane looked like she was going to have a heart attack, and then, the dots were connecting faster.
There was a sudden barrage of gunfire.
I jumped, swinging my gun toward the door, but cursed and lowered it again. Pialto and Sophie both screamed. Sloane almost collapsed to the ground, shaking her head, repeating Nea’s name over and over again.
But Nea—she was looking at her phone.
Her screen flashed.
All of that happened at the same time before she looked up, met my gaze.
An expression flashed over her face. Regret? Then she blanked. A wall slammed back down over her, and she turned for the door.
No . . .
I began raising my gun. “No—”
Sloane’s head lifted, and she began to stand again.
No. No. No!
“Nea!” I yelled, lifting my gun all the way up.
She ignored me, rushing to the door.
“Don’t open that door!”
She did, pushing it open.
A hand reached in from outside, grabbing it, and it swung the rest of the way open.
I took my safety off. At the same time a man I didn’t know walked inside.
He had a creepy smile on his face, with his slicked-back hair. A tight black long-sleeved shirt and dark pants. I kept the gun up even as I was noticing the gun he was holding. One that had a long silencer barrel clipped on top. “You’re Molly Easter?”
Recognition hit me in the gut. I didn’t know this guy, but I knew this guy.
He introduced himself. “I’m Nicolai Worthing.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
ASHTON
I was going to murder whoever was doing this, whoever was putting my loved ones at risk, whoever dared to bring this fight here. Here. My compound. My family’s compound. The one I loathed.
