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Barnett’s mouth opens but before he can ask his question, I tell him, “It was the middle of the night when someone got into my house and knocked me out. I woke up blindfolded. I don’t know who did this to me. I never saw them, they never spoke. All I remember is the pain I felt before I was knocked out again. When I woke up, I was here.”
That's all I’m saying on the matter.
“Were there any distinctive smells, or noises, that could help us?”
“My nose is broken, I don’t smell anything. I heard nothing or I would’ve told you.”
Waterson steps closer. “If you keep anything from us, we can’t help you. I’m aware of your record, was it someone who you met in the prison system?”
“I’ve already told you I don’t know who it was.”
Barnett closes in next. “If any retaliation is taken, you or your brother’s club will be the first place we visit.”
“It’s hard to take revenge when you don’t know who you’re taking it out on.”
They both sigh and I’m grateful when Vincent walks in.
“You good, babe?”
“I’m tired.”
Vincent steps away from the door. “You heard, she’s had enough. Leave.”
Waterson catches his partner's eye and then Barnett nods.
“Do I need to remind you that if you remember anything, no matter how small, to give us a call?”
“You can remind me, but I don’t plan on remembering anything.”
Vincent takes Barnett’s place when they leave and leans over to kiss me softly.
“I can guess what they wanted, they didn’t push you too hard, did they?”
“No, they didn’t push at all. I think they already knew I’d be a dead end in their investigation.”
He sits on the edge of my bed, taking hold of my hand. “Am I gonna get a name this morning?”
All I can say is, “No.”
I don’t know what else to say that’ll stop him and my brother from asking.
Chapter Nineteen
Manik
Eight days of sitting around the hospital. Eight days of Lex keeping her mouth firmly shut. Eight bullshit days that whoever took her and put their fucking hands on her is out there somewhere still breathing.
She’s getting stronger each day, but she refuses to give me or Psy a name. But I can tell she knows. She’ll drift off and stare into space, then flinch, and then smile for me when I call her on it. Pretending everything is okay. It’s infuriating.
“Please, just tell me who grabbed you.”
“I told you I don’t want to talk about it.”
Leaning on the bed, I hold her gaze. “You can’t keep it from me. I deserve to put who did this to you in the fucking ground.”
“It’s not on you to do that.”
“The fuck it is!”
