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Almost immediately after the person on the other end started talking, Brandon's smiling face dropped to a frown. "What?" He grabbed for my hand as he spoke, pulling me close so I could hear the conversation.
"Victor Messina." The clear voice of Matthew Zola rang through the tinny speakers. "I'm so sorry. He was sentenced this morning. Thirty years, but right now, it doesn't matter. He's gone."
I reared back in alarm, but Brandon gestured I should stay quiet while he spoke.
"How does something like that happen?" he demanded. "How does a convicted criminal break out of a prison transport?"
"We're looking into it," was all Zola said. "Most likely one of the guards was on the take, but he killed both of them before we could find out. Look...I don't know where you guys are––"
"Dorchester," Brandon said, now looking around like he expected Messina to pop out of one of the trashcans.
"Is your security with you?"
My eyes widened, and Brandon gripped my shoulder, practically telegraphing with his touch that it was going to be okay.
"No," Brandon said, "but they're on their way."
"Get to your house and stay there," Zola replied. "I'll let you know when he's found. There's only so far you can go with a giant chain around your waist."
Brandon hung up and immediately tucked me closer.
"H-he escaped?" I stuttered, suddenly feeling as if my heart was going to pound out of my chest.
"It's going to be all right," Brandon said as he punched a message into his phone. "Craig's on his way. We'll be home, and they'll get this sorted out. I promise, Red."
"Well, ain't that touching."
It might have been the scent of rotting garbage that only exists in the city in late summer, but I swear I could smell him before I saw his blubbery, greasy face. My entire body seized in fear, and in a split-second, all of the warmth and love of the day was gone. I'd know that nasty voice anywhere.
The voice of Victor Messina.
~
