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I glance at the screen and recognize the location. Greta has been seen near her place. The news sends a jolt through me. “Hold off, I'm on my way,” I respond quickly, battling the urge to throttle her.
Dean rubs his face, wiping away his fatigue. “Did they find her?”
“One of my military buddies spotted her,” I retort. “I knew his tracking skills would pay off.”
Without sharing details, I slip my phone back into my pocket and make my way toward the door, but Dean jumps up and follows me.
I block his path with my arm, “The fuck do you think you’re going?”
“To kill that bitch with my own hands.” The voice veiled in contempt and anger doesn't even sound like his anymore.
“No way, Dean.” I shake my head, but when he looks at me, it's like my brother's not there anymore.
“Don't get all brave now,” he gestures toward the bed, “Miri's in that condition 'cause of her, what if she never wakes up? What if she hurt our kid?”
My heart clenches at the thought of never hearing her voice again. Our kid. The poor innocent caught in the crossfire. The tension is thick in our silence, but we both know what we have to do. “When we find her, remember, we gotta stay level-headed. We can't let this situation spiral out of control.” I say this more to myself than to him because once I find her, God help her.
Dean nods, his face stern. “No missteps. Got it.” He claps me on the back. “Let's roll.”
* * *
It's pitch black when we pull over the address we’ve got, the moon hidden behind clouds, but anticipation hangs in the air. We both step out of the car, itching to put an end to this craziness. Dean's the first to move, making a beeline for the door of Greta's apartment, oddly left ajar.
“Hold up!” I caution him, but it's too late. His rage propels him forward. I follow him swiftly, trying to mentally brace myself for what we might find inside.
The air is heavy with tension. The rooms look ransacked, like someone's been desperately searching for something. Dean moves with purpose, scanning for clues. “Kyle!” he bellows as I sprint toward the bedroom. Or what remains of it. The walls are papered with photos of Miriana. At our place, at the salon, at the tattoo shop, grocery shopping. Talking to people. In some photos, Miriana seems to be glancing around.
“She thought someone was spying on her.” Dean mutters. “That's why she broke down that night. Did you know?”
I shake my head as my gaze shifts to the other wall. “No, or else why the hell wouldn't I have put a guard on her.” I growl as I see photos of Miri and Dean grocery shopping. The way they look at each other, the smiles. It's clear they're in love, and even someone as dim as Greta must've noticed. The next photo, though, makes me snatch it up and I turn around to show it to Dean. “How the hell did she manage this?” I show the photo to Dean, and his eyes bulge. It's a moment when he and Miri are in the pool, having sex. “She got in the house.” There's no other explanation, it's the indoor pool and the windows are blacked out. How the hell did she pull that off?Shit!
“Kyle!” I turn around and Dean shows me the logo on the sheets. “The hospital,” he continues in a tight voice. “We have to get there before she can hurt Miriana or the baby.”
“This bitch is completely out of her mind,” I reply, trying not to let my anger and fear overcome me.
The ride to the hospital is a whirlwind of excitement and adrenaline. Dean drives like a man possessed, exceeding all speed limits as I clutch the seat. My only thought is Miriana, and worry consumes me.
When we finally walk in, Greta stands in front of Miriana. She turns, looking at us with surprise, and the gaze she gives reflects the madness consuming her. That's when I notice the weapon she's holding – the same one she aimed at Miriana: a knife.
I wish I could spring at her, succumb to anger, but I have to keep calm. Dean clenches his fists, anticipating me in an attempt to negotiate. “Leave her alone, Greta. We don't want anyone getting hurt.”
Greta lets out a maniacal laugh. “Don't you think it's too late for that now? She took my life, and I'll do the same.”
Without hesitation, Dean lunges at her, attempting to disarm her. But Greta is fast and dodges him, taking advantage of the movement to get closer to Miriana, still holding the weapon. It's at that moment that I lose my rationality. I yield to anger and let instinct guide me. Taking advantage of Greta's movement and the shield provided by Dean, I approach her. Before she can attack Miriana, I manage to reach her from behind, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her back forcefully. There's no room for delicacy or compassion now. The ensuing struggle is chaotic and fierce. Greta's knife swings threateningly, grazing my side. The pain is piercing, but I take control of the weapon, immobilizing her against the wall. “You're lucky we're in a public place,” I growl, getting a laugh in response. Hospital security arrives, taking her away as they handcuff her. Greta's screams echo through the hallways as they lead her to the patrol car. It's a scene of pure chaos and tension.
As they take her away, I scream inside. I feel anger, for what she tried to do to Miriana, and relief because she is now out of danger. There are still many questions to be answered, but for now, the most important thing is that Miriana and our baby are safe.
Chapter Twenty
Dean
After patching up our wounds, I pull the drapes shut in Miriana’s room. It’s tough walking away from her again, yet we both grasp it’s gotta be done. Like me, he's hell-bent on getting Greta locked up, to put an end to this mess once and for all. Tonight, the nightmare's finally over. Sean, one of Kyle’s military buddies, keeps watch as we head out of the hospital, en route to the station to give our statements. I’m fuming, seriously ticked off that we had to leave Miriana by herself, and now we’re caught up in this nonsense. Couldn’t this have waited till tomorrow?
“Great, a night out,” I grumble under my breath, annoyed. “Why the hell am I here? You could’ve just signed my name or brought the papers to me later,” I snap at him while the rain hammers against the car windows.
“The DA’s a real stickler. I don’t want her on my neck,” he says as he picks up speed, weaving past a line of cars. “I’m gonna make damn sure that bitch gets thrown in the slammer where she belongs.” A smirk crosses his face.
I glance over, puzzled. “What’re you getting at?”
