Saber's Surrender (Imperial Knights #2)

Chapter 20

CHAPTER

TWENTY

Roxy

“Come on, Miranda. I’ll walk you to your car,” I offer, still in disbelief that she is the one who finally shut Ji up.

Sweet, docile Miranda. The woman who takes on anyone’s shift when they can’t cover them. The woman who I saw just today, place a blanket over a homeless man’s shoulders, ignoring the odor wafting off of him and then she gave him her lunch. She regularly donates items to the care closet we started for those who come in needing things, like clean clothes and personal hygiene kits. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body but she laid Ji out without any fuck’s given. I’m actually very impressed because I’m not sure if I could’ve done the same thing that she did without breaking down in hysterics.

“I couldn’t leave, Roxy. I knew you were in danger; I could feel it in every fiber of my being.”

“You did good, Miranda. How are you feeling?”

“Surprisingly, I feel no guilt over what I did. I can’t believe that man is related to you. How did that happen?”

I have a feeling it's not truly a question, but more of a bewildered statement, but I answer anyway. “I was fostered by his biological aunt and uncle. We aren’t blood related.”

She snorts and nods her head as if she’s come to a conclusion. “That explains a lot.”

“He’s always been a blight in the family. A viper who’s always ready to strike whether he was provoked or not. The Pena’s are assholes. Plain and simple. They’re abusers in the physical and mental sense, but none of them are like him. They don’t purchase women like they’re livestock, use them up and then put them back on the market.”

She harrumphs before informing me, “I have another tire iron at home in my backup vehicle. If you need me to beat some sense into anyone else, let me know.”

“I will,” I say as I watch her open up the driver's door and sit into her seat.

“See you Tuesday.”

“See you then. If you need me before our shift, reach out. Okay?” I reply.

“I will, I promise,” she supplies, shutting her door and hitting the start switch on the dashboard. When she waves at me, I step back so she can pull out without running over my toes and lift my hand, waving back.

I blow out a pent up breath before I square my shoulders and walk back over to where the men are huddled over Jiovanni’s prone body. “Is that brain matter?” I ask, crouching down for a better look.

“Yep,” Weston says, rocking back on the heels of his feet. “She whacked him good.”

“I don’t want her to ever know that she killed him,” I state.

“She won’t,” Wrecker vows. “As a matter of fact, she’ll forget this entire confrontation.”

“You gonna work your voodoo magic on her, Wrecker?” I ask in a teasing manner.

“Sure am. There’s no reason she should have to carry this burden for the rest of her life. She acted like it didn’t bother her, but I have a feeling once the adrenaline wears off, it’ll hit her like a two ton brick.”

“I think you’re right about that,” I agree. “What are we going to do about him?”

“We’re waiting for the cleanup crew to arrive,” Weston informs me. “The lot will be spic and span when they finish.”

“That won’t draw any attention.” I snort. “There’s always debris from trash littering it. Not to mention the oil spills from vehicles that stain the asphalt. You don’t want it too clean or employees will get suspicious.”

“You’re right,” Weston concurs. “We’ll just make sure there’s no blood puddles or brain matter left behind.”

“No trace of DNA,” Wrecker adds. “Not our first tour on the block.”

“You men and your metaphors,” I say, before realizing we may have another issue on our hands. “Has anyone seen Frank?”

“The security guard?” Weston asks, suddenly on alert. “He wasn’t manning the gate when we pulled in. When’s the last time he checked in?”

“I’m not sure, I didn’t see him when we came out. Miranda and I were curious about where he was because he usually meets us at the entrance and walks us to our cars.”

“You two go and see if you can’t track him down and we’ll stay here and wait for the others to arrive,” RiffRaff proposes. He’s been so quiet, more of a bystander and observer than a participant that I almost forgot he came with the men.

“Thanks, brother,” Weston says, reaching up and placing his hand on RiffRaff’s shoulder. “For everything.”

“That’s what brothers are for,” RiffRaff surmises. “Go find this Frank character and make sure he’s alright. I’d hate to find out this jackass cousin of yours did anything to a man who protects the women when they leave.”

“We’ve checked everywhere. His car is still in the lot and his lunch is sitting on his desk, which means he didn’t leave,” I say, frustration and worry weighing me down.

I like Frank, but then again, I like most people. Those who act entitled or are plain old assholes are the exception. And I never take anything a patient says seriously especially if they’re in pain because I know that’s likely not how they usually behave.

“Let’s head inside and see if they’ve seen him,” Weston suggests, reaching out and tugging me closer. He wraps one arm around my shoulders and nestles me into his side.

And just like that, it’s as if all the tempestuous years are gone. We’re walking together like we did when we were younger and didn’t have all the responsibilities we have now.

“Good idea, Weston. If they’ve seen Frank they’ll direct us to him.”

When we hit the lobby, we notice that he’s next to a man who’s sitting in a wheelchair. He has a puzzled look on his face as he stares down at him and doesn’t look happy.

“Frank?” I call out his name. “Everything alright?”

“I’m not sure,” Frank remarks. “This gentleman passed out on the sidewalk in front of the gates so I came and got a wheelchair and an orderly to help me get him inside. Now, the guy’s refusing service since he’s come around. Says he’s okay, but if that’s the case, why’d he pass out like a damsel in distress?”

“Not sure,” Weston answers. “But if he’s not needing to be seen, Roxy and I can help him outside.”

I glance up at Weston and see the blankness on his face. He’s watching this guy, scrutinizing him. It’s then it clicks for me that this man was Jiovanni’s distraction. His lackey. It’s how he got past Frank in the first place. I shudder to think what could’ve happened if Miranda hadn’t reached Weston. Things could be far more dire than the guys waiting to get the parking lot cleaned up and the body disposed of without anyone noticing.

“God I’m glad he’s done and dusted,” I mutter so only Weston can hear me. “Oh, and someone probably needs to do something to the cameras too. It won’t do any good for Wrecker to remove Miranda’s memories if there’s proof.”

Weston leans in and whispers directly in my ear, “Fuck, yeah, we’ll get Beast on that as soon as possible. Wrecker will never say otherwise because the end result was gonna be the same, but he had plans to get his pound of flesh from Jiovanni.”

My eyes widen in shock when it dawns on me that Miranda’s assistance thwarted Wrecker’s revenge. From the sound of things, he has been waiting years to get his hands on Jiovanni. Part of me feels bad because he didn’t get his revenge, but then again, in a way he did—Ji never saw Miranda coming at all since he was so focused on antagonizing Wrecker to force a confrontation.

“Maybe he’ll be satisfied with this man in Ji’s place since apparently, he’s one of his flunkies. We can even giftwrap him,” I recommend, giving him my cheerleader grin.

“You’d make his day,” Weston chuckles. “We’ll take it from here, Frank.”

“You sure?” Frank questions. “You’re doctors, not security guards. I should remove him from the premises since that’s my job.”

“Nah. If he was walking, he must need a ride,” Weston comments. “We don’t want him doing that again and possibly losing consciousness. Especially since he’s got something going on but has refused medical attention. My brothers are here, we’ll happily take him to his destination so he’s not loitering.”

“Your brothers, huh?” Frank has suspicion written all over him before he decides it’s not worth it. “If you’re sure, I’ll be going to the break room and grabbing a cup of coffee. It should take me a good thirty minutes since I’m feeling rather decrepit today.”

I snort because even though Frank is older than both me and Weston, he’s far from the stereotypical security guard. He’s still fit and in good shape and is one of the reasons we seldom have issues down in the emergency room. The younger guys all look up to him and do their best to emulate how he handles the various situations that come up from time to time. I’m willing to bet that by the time he does retire, the crew he’s training will be more than ready.

“Here,” Weston says, digging in his pocket and pulling out a few twenties. “Why don’t you let us buy you dinner from the cafeteria so you can rest? Take your time, Frank. Nothing’s gonna happen while you’re taking a break. If I see anyone roaming around while heading out to my bike, I’ll take care of them.”

“I could use a little down time,” Frank says, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Guess I could take my time. Say, an hour?”

“An hour would be perfect,” Weston responds.

“Here,” I pipe up. “Sir, since you passed out, the rules and hospital regulations state that you have to leave in a wheelchair. Why don’t I roll you out?”

“Foxy,” Weston growls. “You’re pushing it.”

“Not yet, but I’m fixing to,” I sass, placing my hands on the handle and releasing the locks. “Ready?” I bat my eyelashes at my man, waiting for him to get the lead out and escort me out.

“Really, I’m fine. I can walk on my own,” the stupid man insists. “I just got lightheaded for a moment.”

I roll my eyes because as doctors, we’re trained to evaluate people at a glance. While we do use medical instruments such as stethoscopes and blood pressure cuffs, just looking at this guy, I know he’s in no distress whatsoever. His color is good, his respirations don’t sound off, and the pulse beating at his neck is steady.

“Sit,” Weston barks as we enter the circle of motorcycles. “Fellas, found out what happened to Frank.”

As he relays the story, the brothers agree that this man in the chair was Ji’s fall guy. I keep my hand pressed down on his shoulder blade, using my fingers to pinch the nerve there so he stays put. When the guy goes to spill some nonsense, I bend over and place my finger over my lips, shushing him. He clamps his lips closed but doesn’t look pleased about doing it.

“Good boy,” I mock praise him. He squirms a little more, but other than that, he doesn’t move a single muscle.