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Kieran grunts, rolling onto the pavement with a snarl and jumping to his feet. He’s like a fucking lion with a blood scent stalking toward Van, who jumps to his shaky as fuck feet, staring at Kieran like he’s finally gotten the idea of who he’s up against. A fucking animal is who. And if I don’t jump in and save his stupid ass, he’ll be dead before the cops can subdue my foolish brother.
“Kieran!” I bark, running toward him at full speed, slamming into him. My finger curls in his shirt, forcefully turning him until I back him up against the brick wall. “Knock it the fuck off! They’re going to take you to fucking jail for suspicion and fucking assault!” I growl through clenched teeth, shaking him.
Too fucking late.
He barks out a humorless laugh, glaring in Van’s direction as the cop approaches slowly with his hand on his gun, hanging from his hip.
“Stand down,” he barks again, putting a placating hand out, trying to ease the tension between Kieran and Van. “I need you to turn around and face the wall. I’m detaining you.” There’s no room for arguments in his voice, glaring at us.
Another officer approaches Van and his fucked up and bleeding face with apprehension, checking over his wounds with a careful eye. His hand rests on his hip, shifting away from Van with heavy suspicions. Leaning in, he nods when Van speaks, making me wonder what words he’s poisoning the police with. Van points our way, shaking his head and dropping his arm when the officer narrows his eyes at us. More words are exchanged, and the officer begins documenting every word Van says and hands him a card. Most likely, telling him to call if he thinks of anything else.
“Son,” the officer barks again. “Turn and face the wall,” he growls, stepping even closer to Kieran, ready to pounce on him if he doesn’t comply with his words.
“Turn around, you fucking idiot,” I hiss, putting my forehead against his. “We’ll find out what the fuck happened. But now you’ve truly outdone yourself. I’ll get to the bottom of why the fuck Van’s here.”
“Go with her,” he pleads, slightly slumping against the wall. Tears burn the back of his eyes, glazing them over when River’s unmoving body is loaded onto the stretcher and is strapped down for safe travels.
Turmoil takes over my foggy brain, watching as her limp body jostles with their movements as they guide the stretcher toward the open ambulance. People shout, and noise fills the alleyway, but my thumping heart blocks it out. My fingers curl into fists, wanting to march over and ease River’s pain. She doesn’t have to shout or scream or even be conscious for me to see the bleeding wounds marking up her face.
Kieran’s fingers curl again, watching with an intense glare when the ambulance takes off with none of us inside. When she wakes up from the slumber some asshole put her into, she’ll be alone in the hospital, wondering what the hell happened and why she’s there, of all places. And then to realize someone knocked her around and tried to get into her fucking panties when she wasn’t awake. FUCK! Every molecule in my body wants to hitch a ride with the ambulance, hold her hand, and fucking comfort her until she wakes up in my arms.
Huffing several breaths to calm myself down, I eye Van, who’s suspect as fuck. Not for a second do I believe that stalking mother fucker had nothing to do with this. He was here. But why? All night I watched the crowd for signs of that slimy snake and came up empty-handed. He’s there every fucking night. So, what was that dickhead up to? And why did he show up in the same place River was hurt? Yeah, this place stinks of his doing, and I’m going to find out every fucking thing I can.
“Get on the ground,” the same officer repeats with patience, eyeing Kieran with a commanding eye.
From here, I can tell he doesn’t want to throw Kieran down to the ground himself, but whatever Van told them has him on edge. His fingers squeeze his gun at his hip again, anxious to pull it out and light my brother up. But he holds back, possibly knowing who we belong to–Nigel Montgomery. Sure, to the naked eye, my stupid brother pounced on Van unprovoked. In their eyes only. To me, my brother pounced on him to get even for fucking with River for so damn long. And he deserved every hit to the face. Plus, so much fucking more. No matter the consequences, I’ll sort this out entire fucking situation.
“Do what they fucking say. We don’t need Nigel finding out about your fuck up!” I growl, throwing Kieran into the wall and watching helplessly as they cuff his hands behind his back, hauling him between two police officers.
“You see anything?” Another officer approaches with apprehension, staring between me and Callum and Rad, who huddle close with fear crossing their faces.
“No. Where are they taking her?” Rad rasps with tears streaming down his pale cheeks. “She’s our girlfriend. We had just walked out here when we saw the lights. Her friend said she had just taken out the trash.” He shakes his head, sniffling.
“We didn’t see anything. As my friend said, we ran out here when we saw the lights. We were playing in Dead End for over an hour,” I say with a sharp nod, refusing to admit anything about my stupid brother and his moronic anger issues.
“And your friend?” the officer asks, pointing to Kieran, who begrudgingly lowers his head and climbs into the back of the cop’s car without fanfare.
I scrub a hand down my face. “An overprotective boyfriend with a chip on his damn shoulder,” I gripe, trying as best as I can to say my words carefully. The last thing I need to do is implicate that asshole into anything further.
The cop nods, turning and radioing the information we relayed, and begins writing our names and checking out our fists for confirmation we had no part in the attack. After he’s done a thorough job of talking to us and gathering information, he finally cracks where they’re taking River.
“They’re taking her to Central Memorial Hospital,” he says as he shoves his notebook into his pocket.
“Any news on her condition?” I ask, but he shakes his head with regret brimming in his eyes.
“Alive and unconscious. That’s all I can say,” the cop says, waltzing away from us and observing the scene with the three other officers standing in a semi-circle around the blood-soaked pavement, talking in low tones.
“Take me to the hospital with you,” Ode says, popping out of nowhere with tears flowing from her eyes. “TAKE ME!” she shouts through her emotions, earning a side hug from Rad. He whispers something in her ear, and her shoulders sag.
“Let’s go,” I grumble with a sigh, worrying about the girl floating in an ambulance toward the hospital and the man in the back of a cop car for finally beating the tar out of Van—the stupid idiot who can’t seem to let go.
“You two go to the damn hospital and monitor River. I have to bail out my stupid brother,” I say through gritted teeth. “Take me home first? Gotta grab the damn Tahoe.”
“Take some of our saved band money if you have to,” Rad says, leading Ode into the backseat of the Tahoe and shutting the door. “It’s in the house.” I nod, remembering the place we hide all our savings.
“Yeah,” I gripe, jumping into the passenger’s seat. “I’ll do that.”
The entire ride home, listening to Ode cry in the backseat, the scene plays over and over in my head. We went from zero to a million in five seconds flat. Now, I have a brother who sits in jail. Another brother who won’t listen to our words without music in his ears and tears in his eyes. Another brother who, as we speak, cries hysterically as he steers the car along the road, heading to the hospital. And at the center of it all, a broken girl who they’ve all fallen head over heels in love with—me included.
