Chapter 23
Samantha
I couldn’t sleep so I’m lying on the couch, scrolling through the local police feeds.
It makes me feel safer knowing what’s going on around me.
My scrolling comes to a screeching halt when I see a mention of Edward Glazer, the biotech billionaire.
He was attacked after leaving The Lucky Sinner early this morning.
The police report says his guards were beaten unconscious, and Mr. Glazer was assaulted, his right hand slammed repeatedly in the car door. He’ll need extensive surgery.
I blink. His right hand? The hand he touched me with?
That has to be a coincidence. Killian wouldn’t risk making an enemy out of a billionaire just because he touched me.
Right? I reread it. It doesn’t say he was robbed.
That doesn’t make any sense. I know for a fact the man was wearing a ten-thousand-dollar Panerai watch.
I must have drifted off because the next thing I know, my phone is buzzing with a text. I rub my eyes, feeling disorientated and focus.
Sully: Warehouse ASAP
I groan. Then push myself off the sofa, stumble to the kitchen for some Tylenol and water, take a quick shower and head out.
Stepping into the warehouse, my body reacts to the trauma of my last visit, dumping cortisol and adrenaline into my bloodstream.
My stomach drops and I force myself to take a deep breath as I step around the box wall.
Their victim comes into view, strung up and bleeding as usual.
My jaw clenches painfully. I remind myself I’m doing this for Rona.
Killian is standing by the table against the right wall, feet planted wide, arms crossed. He’s deep in conversation with two Italian soldiers and hasn’t noticed me.
I roll my bag over to Sully, who’s standing in front of their prisoner, typing something on his phone. “Who’s this?”
He finishes whatever he was doing, shoves his phone into his pocket and scowls at the unconscious man hanging like a slab of beef in front of us. “This is Ernesto Torres. The unlucky cunt who shot Mac.”
My heart stutters in my chest as I stare at the man. This is it. This is where I find out if I’m just paranoid, or if Michael has found me. I fold my arms protectively as my insides tremble. “How long has he been unconscious?”
“About forty minutes.” He glares at the man, sweat rolling from his temples down his thick neck. “Need you to make sure he wakes up, love. He hasn’t given up his target yet. The only thing we got so far is the target wasn’t Da, and it wasn’t supposed to be a kill shot. Just a warnin’.”
Just a warning? The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
That would be more like Michael’s MO. I approach him and start checking his vitals.
The smell of blood and piss is strong, so me being hung over with an empty stomach is not ideal.
I fight a wave of nausea as I lift his eyelids and check his pupils.
Then I grab some smelling salts from my bag and wave them under his nose.
His head jerks up and his eyes pop open.
“Welcome back to your personal hell,” I whisper.
And then I freeze because his bloodshot eyes widen and he stutters out, “You.”
My mouth goes dry. I see it. I see the recognition in his eyes. I was his target.
Killian comes to stand by my side. He’s staring intently at the man. “What the fuck did you just say?”
He stutters some more, terror in his eyes as his gaze ping pongs from me to Killian.
Killian’s fist shoots out and strikes the guy’s rib with a sickening crack.
A whoosh of air leaves the man’s body with a grunt. He coughs blood and tries to recover.
My mind is spinning. Bile rises in my throat.
The man finally recovers enough to choke out, “It’s her. She was the target.”
Oh my God. My whole body begins to tremble. “I knew it. He’s found me,” I whisper.
Killian grabs me by the shoulders. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to hold me in place. “Look at me.”
I raise my chin and wince at the cold, lethal fury shining in his eyes.
His voice is a gravelly whisper. “You suspected you were the target? Da almost died because of you.” His expression has darkened.
An underlying volcano of rage is bubbling within him.
I can feel it like static in the air before a lightning strike.
Our fragile truce is over. He’s back to blaming me.
“I told you if your dirty laundry almost got Da killed, it was very much my business. So, when I asked you why you freaked out when you found out Da wasn’t the target, you should’ve told me about this devil of yours.
That he may have found you. Instead, you kept protectin’ yourself.
” He lets me go then begins to pace. “Fuckin’ selfish, Sam. Real fuckin’ selfish.”
I want to tell him I was protecting my daughter. But would that even matter? He’s beyond rational right now.
The other soldiers have drifted further away, giving him space.
Sully walks over and touches my elbow. I can barely see him through the tears as I meet his eyes. He flicks his chin, motions for me to come with him. Then he leads me away from Killian to the table off to the side and hands me a cold water bottle.
“Thank you,” I croak, though I don’t feel deserving of it. Killian’s right. It was selfish of me not to tell them about Michael. Not to tell them I could’ve been the one to cause this mess.
Suddenly Killian stalks over to the cabinet beneath the stairs and flings open the doors. When he turns around, his face is a mask of fury, and he’s clutching a large tactical Bowie knife.
“Feck,” Sully whispers under his breath. He gently turns me away. “Don’t watch, darlin’.”
I squeeze the water bottle as Killian roars and the first agonizing scream rips through the warehouse. Within seconds, the man’s screams turn into whimpers then silence. Killian’s hard breathing is behind me and then the clatter of the bloody knife being tossed down on the table.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Sully whispers, his face pinched.
Then there’s the sound of Killian stomping up the metal stairs to the second-floor office and then the door slamming.
Sully runs a hand down his face, over his beard. “Go home, Doc. Let him cool off.”
I nod. I try not to look at the body as I pack up my go-bag, but I fail. A half-choke, half-whimper escapes my throat as I catch sight of the man’s intestines on the ground at his feet, blood running down his body and into the drain below his dangling bare feet.
“Pack him up for the gator farm, lads,” Sully instructs.
My hand goes over my mouth, but it’s too late. I turn and puke all over the floor, the bitter taste of bile, champagne and horror in my mouth. “Sorry,” I mutter, feeling out of my mind as my shaking hands throw things in my bag. I stumble out the door to my car.
I’m standing in my apartment, my back against the door, feeling numb and disconnected from the world.
I don’t even remember driving here. Leaving my roller bag by the door, I walk like a zombie into the bathroom, strip and take another shower.
I scrub my body raw with a loofah but can’t get clean.
It’s inside me… the dirt. In my soul. My vows mean nothing.
I just watched as a man got gutted like a fish and did nothing.
Can I even call myself a doctor anymore?
I feel like a robot as I dry off, pull on running shorts and a wrinkled T-shirt, grab my phone and sit on the sofa.
The brutal way Killian murdered Ernesto Torres.
I mean, I know the world Killian was born and raised in.
I’m not na?ve. It’s a world where violence and death are justified and used as tools.
But… I just can’t reconcile the man I spent time with last night with the inhumane monster he became in that moment.
I know he was angry with me. Was that why he gutted that man?
Was it my fault? I’m so numb, I can’t even cry.
The air conditioning kicks on. A shiver goes through me.
I’m the one who should’ve been enraged at Mr. Torres. He meant to shoot me. He was paid by Michael to shoot me. It makes more sense that he wasn’t supposed to kill me, though. Michael wants Rona.
I look down at the cellphone I use to check in with Celia.
I’m not sure what to do, what to tell her.
Is it time to run? Should I go get them and risk leading Michael to them?
I don’t want to scare Celia, but I have to let her know Michael found me.
Though I still don’t know if he knows where I live.
Surely, he would’ve shown up at my apartment by now if he did.
I turn on the phone, and it immediately buzzes with a text.
I stare at it, blinking. It’s from an unknown number.
See you soon, little rabbit.
A hot, prickling sensation spreads over my scalp, and I begin to shake internally.
Michael.
How did he get this number?
I completely underestimated his resources. And his obsession. He’s toying with me. Enjoying my fear. And letting me know I’ll pay for running from him with his daughter.
My eyes wide, I glance around the apartment, feeling trapped.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I don’t even trust using this phone to contact Celia now.
With shaking hands, I take out the SIM card and flush it down the toilet.
I’ll have to find a payphone. Do they even have those anymore?
Or maybe just ask a business to use their phone.
I pace my small living room, biting my thumbnail. How much does Michael know? Does he have someone following me? Does he know where I live?
Maybe I should ask Killian for help.
Sure. The man who blames you for almost getting his father killed. No, I got myself into this mess, I will get myself out without putting anyone else in danger.
Okay. The first thing I have to do is find a way to contact Celia.
With a solid action item, I grab my purse and head out. This time, I’m more alert, scanning my surroundings. The problem is, besides the obvious danger of being followed, I’m not sure what else to watch for. Not being able to think like a murdering psychopath has its downsides.
And I will soon learn that lesson the hard way.