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My already delirious head spun harder.I’d been beaten.Shot.Dumped away like trash.
Fuck…
Why couldn’t I remember?
“Do you remember Ginger coming back?”
“Yes,” I said immediately, trying to nod. “She showed up at your house. She didn’t tell us she was coming. You… You were housing her for me. You promised to keep her safe.”
He nodded, giving me a piss-poor version of a smile. “And what do you remember after that?”
“I remember taking care of the Cindy problem.”
I attempted another nod as bits and pieces of those memories started coming together.
“Yeah…that was a week after Ginger came back. I told you the job was done and then I went home that night so I could get ready to report back to the club the next morning. I… I worked for a few days…”
“And after that?” my mother questioned, worrying her bottom lip again.
Fuck.
That’s when it all went dark.
“That’s the last thing I remember.” I forced myself to swallow despite how much it fucking hurt. “Be honest with me… How long was I out?”
“Three weeks, give or take,” Mom whispered. “Maybe a little longer. Thanksgiving is tomorrow…”
“Wh-what?” The monitors hooked to my body wailed louder, growing more erratic. “If I’ve been out that long…then…then where’s Ginger? Why isn’t she already here? What the fuck is going on?”
“You have to stay calm, Griffin,” Mom pleaded, her wet eyes darting nervously to the monitors behind me, her breath hitching when my vitals continued to spike. “Please baby.”
“Where is she?” I pleaded, the tears burning hot the longer my gaze pinged between their torn expressions. “Where’s my sweetheart? Please tell me she’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” Unc answered in a soft whisper. “She took off weeks ago—didn’t breathe a word to anyone about it, not even me. Wherever she went, Damien found her. He’s been holding her hostage for weeks now.”
“She-she’s pregnant, Griffin,” my mother inserted, her words pinning me impossibly harder to the bed.
“VALERIE!”
“Fuck off, Niccolò. He needs to know. I’m his mother and don’t you fucking dare argue with me over it!”
She’s pregnant…
Ginger…My Ginger. Pregnant.
“Is…is it mine?”
“We just got the news last night. It’s a lot to explain, but yes, the baby is yours. Damien doesn’t know that though. He believes the baby is his. We suspect it’s why he hasn’t killed her.”
It took me a minute to fully process what he was saying to me. When the reality finally hit, somehow—and I honest to God don’t know how—I managed to tear the mask off my face. Mom and Unc jumped up at the same time to restrain me before I could rip the fucking IV out.
“NO, GRIFFIN, STOP!”
“We have to save her,” I cried out, my heart jackhammering harder than ever as I fought against them, failing miserably. Despite the sudden adrenaline rush, I was unbearably weak and knew there was nothing I could physically do, which had given me no other choice but to lie flat in bed, my lungs burning. It felt like chef knives were chopping them into bread loafs the harder my chest heaved.
This was my fault. Something went wrong. But fuck, I couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t I fucking remember?
“We’re working on it,” Unc promised, his hand reaching out and cradling my damp cheek.
