Chapter 23 Definitely Not Up To Something
Elias
Jax:
We need to handle bash. TODAY
That’s the text waiting for me when I finally peel off my uniform shirt and drop onto the couch after a twelve hour shift that felt more like twelve years.
I scrub a hand over my face and stare at the screen with my eyes burning.
Elias:
What happened?
Three dots appear, disappear, and come back.
Jax:
Nothing *happened* happened
Jax:
He came in2 the bar
Jax:
Ran his mouth
Jax:
Implied some shit
My jaw tightens, imagining what Bash would say. Fear spikes for a moment, as I remember this is Jax I'm texting and I should probably be asking what he did in return.
Elias:
What kind of shit?
Theo:
I’m assuming not the “I’m forgiving the debt and moving to Florida” kind.
Jax:
I wish
He made comments about Raine
Said she responded to him
Said she’d come crawling eventually
Like he was talking about a fucking dog
I sit up straighter, heart hammering against my ribs at the thought of Bash doing something to Raine.
Elias:
He touched her?
Jax:
He said she kissed him then punched him
His cheek was bruised but he thought that shit was funny
I know he twisted it
Theo:
She didn’t tell any of us that.
Jax:
No
She showed up at my place shaking and just needed out of her own head
I didn't ask
I should’ve but I didn’t
Theo:
Don’t start with the should-haves. I’m already mentally drafting six different ways to commit homicide and not get caught.
Jax:
See that’s the thing
We keep joking about killing him
But we’re starting to run out of jokes
Theo:
I’m all for taking him out, but what the hell are we actually going to do? We’re not exactly criminal experts.
He's right, we’re not.
We’re a bartender with anger issues, a math nerd with anxiety, and an EMT who doesn't know how to stop. But we’re also three guys who fell for the same girl that's been walking through hell for longer than we’d like to think with nobody at her back.
Criminal expert or not, I’m not letting Bash lay a hand on her ever again.
Elias:
I might have someone.
There’s a pause before both Theo and Jax are typing.
Jax:
Someone???
Theo:
Is this a “someone” who breaks bones or a “someone” who owns several unregistered guns?
Elias:
Closer to the second one.
Jax:
The fuck do you mean closer
Theo:
Yeah, I feel like there’s a story-time here, man.
There is.
I lean back, letting my head hit the wall behind the couch, and stare at the ceiling for a second.
I never really planned on using this card.
But now my phone is full of texts demanding blood, and I'm not far from the feeling. Bash is putting his hands on her in ways he never should and thinking she's just holding back. Maybe tonight I’m the type of idiot who cashes favors from the kind of man that’s usually wheeled in the back of a cop car.
Elias:
I’ll explain later. I’m going to make a call.
Theo:
Elias.
Jax:
Don’t like that
I don’t like how that sounds one bit
Elias:
Yeah
Well, I think we would all like Bash breathing less.
That shuts them up.
I scroll past old text threads, old photos, bills, until I get to the contact I haven’t touched in almost two years.
W.
That’s all it says. No full name, no emoji, just the letter. I stare at it for a solid thirty seconds as the memory floods in.
The night I met him is burned into my mind in a way not even my worst runs are. Not because of the blood—there’s always blood—but because of the way every cop on scene had gone silent when they realized who we had on the pavement.
Someone bigger, older, and smarter than Bash.
He’d been shot twice. Once in the shoulder, and another too damn close to his lung. I’d had my hand inside his chest with the rig rocking and sirens screaming, thinking there was no way this guy was going to make it to the bay. Despite that thought, he did.
I heard later that he walked out of the hospital self-discharge style with two security guards arguing about whether or not they were willing to stop him.
And then a month after that, he showed up at the station.
Just walked through the ambulance bay doors in a dark coat and an elegant suit with every medic and firefighter in the room going quiet at the same time.
I thought I was dead. Really and truly thought that was it, that he had decided I saw too much, knew too much, and it was time to clean up the loose ends. Instead, he tracked me with those flat, dark eyes, stepped right into my space, and said; “You’re the one who kept me breathing.”
It wasn’t a question, so I nodded, trying not to visibly sweat through my uniform shirt. He studied me a second longer, then pulled a small white card from his pocket and slid it into my hand.
“I pay my debts. If you ever need anything—anything—call that number. Use my name when someone picks up.”
Then he walked back out like he’d just stopped by for a friendly hello.
The card sat in my wallet until I moved it to my phone contacts on a random insomnia night, then forgot it completely.
Until now.
I hit call before I can talk myself out of it, hearing it ring twice.
“Yeah?” A male voice, not Emil's, answers with a guard-dog tone.
My throat goes dry for a brief second before I clear it away. “I need to speak to Emil Ward.”
There's complete silence on the other end, so quiet in fact I pull the phone from my face to make sure the call didn't drop. It hasn't. When I press it to my ear again, all I hear is someone breathing heavily.
“Who is this?” he asks.
“Elias Ortiz. I’m the medic who pulled a bullet out of his chest a couple years ago. He told me to call if I ever needed anything. I wouldn’t be bothering him if it wasn’t serious.”
There's another pause in which I can practically feel the guy trying to categorize me.
“Hold.”
The line goes quiet, a dead space that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. I start pacing the small length of my living room, my socks sliding over the tired wood.
There's a click and then a different voice. This one I recognize, even though I only heard it a handful of times, most of them muffled by pain and oxygen masks.
“Mr. Ortiz.”
I stop moving, blanking out for a millisecond.
“It’s Elias. But yeah. That’s me.”
“You called.” There's no judgment nor curiosity in his tone, just fact, like maybe he was expecting this call sooner.
“Yeah.”
“What do you need?”
There's no small talk with him, which I should have figured, but it still throws me off. Part of me thought I'd have a moment to get my words put together better.
I breathe in slowly, feeling my ribs expand, and decide to just rip the bandage off.
“I need someone gone.”
There's silence again, as if I've suddenly peaked his interest.
“‘Gone,’” Emil repeats. “As in… away? Scared? Or removed from the board?”
My stomach does an unhealthy twist, reading between the lines.
“Removed.” The word feels huge in my mouth, like I'm somehow sentencing someone to certain death. “He’s not going to stop unless he's gone.”
There’s a quiet exhale on the line in which I can picture him leaning back in a chair, thinking.
“This man,” Emil says. “He hurt you?”
“No.”
“Someone else then.”
“Yeah.”
I’m not stupid enough to say Raine’s name out loud, and, thankfully, he doesn’t push for it.
“Was it personal?” he asks instead. “Or… business.”
“With him?” I let out a humorless laugh. “Both. He’s got her in a debt she can’t pay, and he likes leaning on her about it. Getting in her space. Pushing. Threatening. Using us as leverage to squeeze tighter.”
“Us,” he echoes.
I internally flinch. I knew that was sloppy the second it came out.
“She’s not alone anymore. That’s the problem. He knows that now.”
“He saw you.”
“Yeah.”
“Does he know your names?” he asks, and something inside me says my answer will determine his.
“Yes. He doesn't know a lot about us, but he knows enough to go digging. And he’s the kind of asshole who goes through loved ones first.”
Emil is quiet, so I take the hint and stay silent. I let it carry all the things I’m not saying: that I’m terrified. That I’ve run through every legal option and they all end with Bash laughing.
Finally, Emil says, “Name?”
For a second, I think he means mine. Then I realize.
“Bash. That’s what everybody calls him. I don’t even know his real name. He runs collections, loans, maybe more. He's in that corner of town.”
Emil hums. “I’ve heard the name.”
“Then you know he’s not exactly small.”
“He’s not big either,” Emil replies. “He thinks he is because no one has reminded him he's not.”
I sit with that for a second.
“You could just… do that?” I ask. “Remind him?”
“Depends. What are you asking me to do, Elias? Do you want me to kill him or just put him in his place?” he asks, voice still quiet.
“I’m asking you to stop him. Permanently. Whatever that means, whatever that looks like coming from you.”
“You understand this can’t lead back to me. Or to you.”
“I know.”
“You understand there could be fallout. Someone bigger in his chain could notice he’s gone and come sniffing around. I'm not responsible for it.”
My throat tightens. “Yeah. I understand."
“Do you?”
I think of Raine’s face the night she admitted she needed me. The way her hands shook when she pulled back from our first kiss.
“I’d rather deal with fallout from someone I’ve never met than watch him keep putting his hands on her. So yeah. I get it.”
There’s a low exhale.
Approval maybe.
Or more likely annoyance.
“You saved my life,” Emil says, carrying a heavier tone than I expected. “My people insisted I leave the city when that bullet came through. I came back anyway because it’s mine. I respect people who don’t run, even when it’s the smarter option.”
“I’m not brave. I can't even handle this myself."
There's a pause in the line again, then, “Meet me.”
I straighten, gripping my phone tighter. “When?”
“Tonight.”
That shakes me for a second as I glance at the clock. It’s only a little after ten. “Where?”