Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Echo
She called me her friend.
I crack my neck and tap my fingers on the steering wheel to try to distract myself from the thought, but it digs in deeper.
She called me her fucking friend.
Bambi has hidden behind that label since the moment we met, and it never once bothered me. Partly because I knew it was just a guise meant to cover up the truth of what was really happening between us. And partly because every time she said it, I could tell she didn’t mean it.
But this time it felt different. Final. And the way she pulled away from me? That shit was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve been beaten to the point of passing out more times than I can count.
It’s like that word ripped a fucking hole in my chest, and now I’m just sitting here hemorrhaging all over the place.
I pull the car to a stop at a red light and grit my teeth hard, hoping the pain will distract me from my pathetic thoughts. When that doesn’t work, I escalate.
Friend.
I punch the steering wheel with full force.
Friend.
I punch it again, harder this time, and the ache in my knuckles is a sweet distraction. I punch it again, and again, and again. Watching as the flesh over my knuckles rips and my steering wheel gets splattered with the evidence of madness.
A horn blares from somewhere behind me, but I don’t stop. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I need this release, like I need fucking air.
Friend. Friend. Fucking. Friend.
I press my forehead against the wheel and grip the sides of it, breathing through my nose as I try to remind myself of who the hell I am. Of what I am.
Someone bangs on my window, and I glance over to find a middle-aged white man standing outside my door.
He’s red-faced and balding, wearing a stained t-shirt that stretches just a little too tightly over his midsection. He’s screaming at me through the glass.
I reach for my gun, not even bothering to be discreet about it, and aim it at his shiny bald head.
The fucking prick stops yelling and his red face turns white at an impressive speed. He raises his hands with wide eyes and nearly trips over himself as he backs away from my car.
Goddamnit, I’m slipping. I know I am. I just threatened an inconsequential asshole because a girl called me her friend and I couldn’t handle it.
That’s where I'm at right now.
That’s what Bambi has reduced me to.
I press the back of my bleeding hand against my mouth and stare at the road ahead.
When the fuck did this happen?
My phone lights up on the passenger seat, and I glance at it. Three missed calls from River. Two from Briggs. And a string of missed texts I can’t read from here, but the most recent one from River is visible in the preview.
Come home. Now. It’s urgent.
I look at my hand, at the gashes in my knuckles, and the blood dripping down to my wrist. Then I clench my jaw, take my foot off the brake, and drive like it never even happened.
I step into the dark living room and my eyes immediately spot the two silhouettes waiting for me. River is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his jaw locked tight. Briggs is seated on the couch beside him, watching me with a wary expression.
“What’s going on?” I ask, eyeing the two of them.
River’s eyes drop to my hands for a beat, noticing the cuts there, then he wordlessly reaches for the remote.
The flat-screen flickers to life, and a video plays of what looks to be dash cam footage. It’s grainy and dark, but the timestamp in the corner of the screen is unmistakable.
August 15th.
The night I met Bambi.
Fuck.
My throat tightens, but I school my features and keep my mask of indifference firmly in place.
The footage continues to play, and at first, there’s nothing there. Just shadows and the faint glow of a streetlight bleeding into the frame.
Then she appears.
Bambi backs into the frame, moving cautiously, as if every step back towards the wall costs her something.
My jaw clenches.
Four figures emerge in front of her. Their faces are indistinguishable, but I know it’s the men I killed. I’d recognize their builds anywhere.
The biggest one goes after her first, backing her against the side of the building. He lunges for her, but just before he reaches her, she ducks. The movement is so fast I almost miss it. One second she’s cornered, the next she’s dropping low, out of view.
When she comes back up, there’s a knife in her hand. She swings it wildly, all desperation and adrenaline, and the blade catches the side of his face. Even through the grainy footage, I can see the spray of blood and the way he staggers back as his hands fly to his face.
The others freeze for half a second, shock rippling through them, then they attack. All of them. All at once.
The second man grabs for her. She twists out of his grip and slams her shoulder into his chest. He stumbles back, but it doesn’t seem to do much damage. The third one comes at her next. She swings the knife again, and he jerks back just in time, leaving the blade to slice through empty air.
“She fucking stabbed him!” He shouts, his voice crackling through the speakers, and I couldn’t be prouder.
Yeah, she fucking did. Bambi’s a fighter through and through.
The fourth man reaches for his waistband. For the gun tucked there. And my pulse spikes.
She sees it too. I watch her body tense, watch the split-second decision flash across her face. Then she runs at him. Straight at the man with the gun.
Jesus Christ. This is what was happening while I was unconscious.
She slashes wildly, going for anything she can reach. Messy. Uncoordinated. Completely chaotic.
He curses and slams his elbow into her back. She goes down hard and it takes everything I have not to look away.
The second her body hits the pavement, all four of them close in. Rough hands grabbing. Ripping. Yanking at her dress, her hair, anything they can reach.
Those motherfuckers. I’d give everything to raise them from the dead, just so I could kill them again, slower this time.
Someone pries the knife from her hand, and I watch with my jaw clenched as she gets dragged back to her feet. One of the bastards puts her in a chokehold.
She kicks. She claws. She fights like hell. But he’s stronger, and now he’s lifting her off the pavement.
Her movements start to slow. Get weaker. But she still isn’t done fighting. She tries to headbutt him, but she misses. And to get back at her, the coward slams her face into the brick wall.
The sound echoes through the speakers. Wet. Sickening.
My hands are shaking. I curl them into fists to make it stop, but it doesn’t work. I’ve already lived this moment. I was there. I felt the rage boiling under my skin. The split-second decision to intervene. The satisfaction of putting them down one by one. But watching it now is different. Worse.
Because I’m standing here helpless, watching her get hurt all over again. I force myself to stay still. To keep my face blank. River is watching me. I can feel it.
On screen, the gunshots start and the men drop one by one. Bodies hitting the pavement in sequence like dominoes. The camera doesn’t catch me, but it catches her. Standing there. Frozen. Staring at the bodies. Then, looking up and staring at me.
A jacket is tossed at her. My jacket. Then she runs off screen and the footage cuts to black. Silence fills the room.
River turns to face me. His expression, unreadable in the worst possible way. “That footage was taken from a parked car in that alley way,” he says. His voice is calm. Too calm.
I drag my hand through my hair and rub the back of my neck.
“You told me there was nothing to worry about.”
“There isn’t.” I hiss. “She’s not going to say anything.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
I hold his gaze and River’s eyes narrow.
“You know her, don’t you?”
I stay quiet.
“Jesus Christ, Echo. Is she the girl you brought here? The one you’ve been seeing?”
“I’m not seeing her.” I say, feeling annoyed at the implication. “We’re just friends.”
Briggs snorts from across the room.
I ignore him.
River doesn’t. “Since when have you made a habit of befriending liabilities?”
“Since now.”
His jaw tightens. “Do you know where I got this footage?”
I shrug. Even though my pulse is hammering. Even though I already know the answer is going to be bad.
“The police are circulating it.” River says.
“Along with every other criminal organization in the city, not to mention every independent contractor on his payroll. He’s offering two hundred thousand dollars to anyone with information leading to her whereabouts.
He wants her found, Echo. Do you get what I’m saying? ”
I swallow.
Yeah. I understand.
“She’s in danger,” River says. “We all are.”
I already knew that. I’ve known it since the second I let her walk away that night. Since I started tracking her phone and monitoring her location and posting guards outside her bookstore like some obsessive fuck who can’t let go. But hearing River say it out loud makes it real.
“She needs to come stay with us,” River says. “It’s the only way we can be sure Casello won’t get his hands on her.”
“What if she doesn’t want to?” I ask.
I realize how stupid the question sounds the second it leaves my mouth. Since when did I give a fuck about what anyone else wanted?
River’s expression hardens. “She doesn’t have a choice.”
He’s right. I know he is. She doesn’t have a choice, and neither do I.
I look at the screen one more time. At the freeze-frame of Bambi running away. Her eyes wide with terror. Helpless. Exposed. Exactly the position I never wanted her to be in again. And here she is, anyway. Because of me.
“We need to go get her now.” I say. “Before someone else does.”
River nods. “I’ll come with you. Let me just pull the car up front.”
I nod, even though I hate everything about this.
River heads for the door and I push off the couch to follow him, but Briggs stops me short. “You sure about this?”
“About what?”
“Bringing her here. Into this.” He gestures vaguely at the house. At the life we’ve built. The empire. The violence. The shit we do that normal people don’t come back from. “You know what that means, right? Once she’s in, she’s in. There’s no going back.”
“I know.”
He studies me for a moment. “Yeah, but does she?”
It doesn’t matter if Bambi knows what she’s getting into. She’s in danger, and her safety supersedes everything else. Including her freewill.
I’ll make sure Bambi leaves that apartment tonight. Even if I have to drag her out of it, kicking and screaming.