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“He who?”
I lift my gaze. “The one past saving.” My tone is dark and neither of them make eye contact with me.
One clears his throat, “Is that when she lost consciousness?”
“Yes.” I force myself past the memory of her head hitting the floor. “She woke up a few minutes ago and rolled herself over, then”––I’m forced to swallow––“then she passed back out.”
“Alright. Is there anything else we should know?”
“I don’t…” I shake my head. “She was running when I got here. I don’t know if…”Fuck. I can’t even get the sentence out.I grit my teeth and do it for Savannah. “I don’t know if he hurt her before that.”
“Okay. We’ll take good care of her, sir, but I need to ask you to move back a little, so we can get her ready for transport.”
Knowing it’s what’s best for her, I pull my hand back and stand.
Seeing my bloody handprint on her shorts makes my stomach roil.
I never meant for it to be like this.
I take enough steps back, that they have room to work, but I stay close enough to see her.
She looks so small like this.
The thud of shutting car doors signals the arrival of the cops.
Normally we don’t involve law enforcement in our business. But Nero was right about what he said earlier. People need to remember that no one fucks with us.
And the dead man on the stairs behind me is a convicted felon home invader, here to murder my beautiful wife. When the public gets word of me killing him in an act of self-defense, they’ll make me a hero.
But I’m no hero.
I never have been. And I never pretended to be.
My fists clench, the skin pulling tight across my knuckles, reminding me who I am.
What I am.
Another set of headlights flash across the entryway before the new car stops and a man jumps out.
From where I’m standing, I can see out the front door to where the three police officers stopped ten feet from the front door to look at the newcomer.
The man comes into view, jogging up the sidewalk.
“Hey, boys,” he lifts a hand.
The cops all look at each other, then one finally asks. “What’s the FBI doing here?”
“Just give me a second,” the man replies. “I’m a friend.”
Nero and I glance at each other as the federal agent vaults up the front steps, enters my home, then swings the door shut behind him.
“Friend?” Nero repeats the word like he’s never heard it before.
“Figured I could get that message moving quicker if I happened upon the scene. Driving home, ya know.” He nods to me. “King.”
“Tye.” I spare him a glance as I watch the paramedics slide a thin cot under Savannah.
Nero and Tye keep talking, but I can’t do anything except watch two strangers lift my wife onto a gurney.
