Chapter 7
Loco
Lamonte looked too small in the hospital bed.
Not physically—he was still built like a tank—but the tubes, the machines, the way his chest rose and fell with mechanical rhythm.
It robbed him of his stubborn, loud presence.
Turned him into something fragile. This man, this Marine, this cop, he was not fragile.
I stepped closer, heart hammering. His neck was bandaged thick, the dressing already tinged with red. A ventilator hissed softly around us.
I stared at his face. There was still powder smeared faintly along his arm, like chalk.
My chest tightened until it hurt. “Hey,” I whispered, because I didn’t know what else to say. “You better not die on me.”
His eyelids didn’t flutter. He didn’t squeeze my hand. Nothing. I reached for his fingers anyway, wrapping mine around his, careful of the IV lines. I needed to feel life under my palms.
His skin was warm.
Alive.
I leaned closer, voice shaking. “I should’ve turned around.” The guilt was gnawing at me.
A nurse near the door cleared her throat, a gentle reminder of time limits. I straightened slowly, squeezing Lamonte’s hand once. “I’m gonna fix this,” I murmured. “I’m gonna find him. And you’re gonna wake up and call me an idiot like you always do.”
Still nothing. But I said it anyway, because I needed to believe words had power. When I stepped out of the room, the hallway felt colder.
I walked back toward the main waiting area for the ICU where Nita was, my mind already spiraling toward Char.
Because Lamonte was breathing, yes.
But Char—Char had come within inches of never breathing again. And I had to look at her. I had to hear her voice. I had to know she had life in her too. Nita was pacing when I found her, arms wrapped around herself like she was holding her body together by force.
“How’s Lamonte?” she demanded.
“Alive,” I stated. “Being transferred to ICU. Sedated. Critical, but alive. We’ll be able to have visits in blocks of time once they have him moved to this area.”
Nita’s eyes squeezed shut. “Thank God.”
Then her gaze snapped to my face. “Now take me to Char.”
“They still might not let you in,” I said gently. “But I’m going to her. I can get in under the need for a report.”
Nita’s expression sharpened. “So you can see her but I can’t?”
Anger flashed, hot and unfair, and I didn’t blame her for it.
“It’s an active investigation right now.
I’m not doing it to hurt you,” I said, voice low.
“By now they have posted an officer outside her door. They’re also limiting visitors because she coded and because they’re trying to keep the environment controlled.
I’m using the only leverage I’ve got for us both. ”
Nita’s lips trembled. “Tell her I’m here.”
“I will,” I promised. “I swear.”
She grabbed my wrist again, eyes shining. “Dante, please. If she wakes up and she’s scared—”
“I’ll be there,” I said. “I’ll be there. And I’ll make sure she knows you’re here waiting to see her.”
And I meant it, even though part of me didn’t know how to be there without breaking apart. The ICU doors opened with a hiss. Char’s room was dim, lit by soft monitors that blinked green and blue. The steady beep of her heart rate was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
She lay in the bed like she was already gone and her body hadn’t gotten the message. Her face lacked the color it normally had, bruises bloomed along her throat, dark fingerprints stamped into her skin like a signature.
My stomach turned. I stepped closer, hands shaking. I would make him pay. For every bit of pain he put her through, for what he had done to Lamonte, yes, he would pay.
There was an IV line in her arm, another in her hand, oxygen cannula under her nose. A bandage covered the inside of her upper arm, right where the skin was tender and thin.
Injection site.
Rage rose in me so fast I thought I might choke on it.
A nurse came by the glass door to her little area. She looked at me, questions dancing in her eyes.
“I’m officer Dante Verdone. I was on the scene. Just checking in on the victim. Needing a statement at some point.”
The nurse hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “She’s been drifting in and out. She might wake again soon. If she starts to fatigue, you stop.”
“Yes,” I said quickly.
The nurse stepped back, crossing her arms, watching me like she didn’t trust me not to fall apart. She wasn’t wrong. But I didn’t have time to crash out right now. I needed to make sure Char was going to pull through then I needed to start the man hunt.
Char’s eyelids fluttered. I leaned in, voice soft. “Char? It’s me. It’s Dante.”
Her lashes trembled again, and then her eyes cracked open. They were unfocused at first, like she couldn’t anchor herself to the room. Then they found me. And the fear that flooded her face shattered something inside my chest.
She tried to speak. A raw sound came out—more breaths than words. “Easy,” I whispered. “Don’t push. You’re in the hospital. You’re safe.”
Her hand twitched weakly, fingers scraping the sheet like she was trying to reach for something. For me. I took her hand gently, careful of the IV, and wrapped my fingers around hers.
Her grip was weak but real. Tears burned behind my eyes. I blinked them back hard.
“Char,” I said. “Can you tell me what happened?” I wanted to add before we got there, but she didn’t even know we were there. She was out cold when we arrived and as she left in the ambulance.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. She winced. “It hurts,” she rasped.
“I know,” I said, voice breaking. “I know. Just whatever you can. Okay? We need to know where he is.”
Her eyes squeezed shut, and for a second her face looked like she was back there, in that apartment, trapped in the dark.
“He was there,” she whispered, voice shredded. “When I came home.”
My grip tightened around her hand. “Your ex?”
She nodded faintly, a tiny motion that seemed to cause pain. “He was inside.”
“Was the door locked?” I asked automatically, brain trying to build a timeline.
“I,” She swallowed again, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. “I don’t know. I think he had a key. Or he broke in. He got in before I got home. I don’t know.”
“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “Just keep going.”
Her breath hitched. “He was high. Crazy. His eyes,” She shook her head slightly like she couldn’t bear the memory. “He kept talking fast. Saying I was I was his. That I thought I could leave him behind like nothing. Throw him out like trash.”
My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
“He wouldn’t let me past him,” she whispered. “I tried to go back out. He grabbed me.” Her fingers tightened weakly around mine, panic pulsing through that small squeeze.
“He shook me,” she said, voice trembling. “Hard. Like, like he wanted to break me. And he kept saying, ‘You’re gonna learn.’”
I felt cold sweat slide down my spine. “Char,” I said, leaning closer. “Did he make you take anything?”
She blinked slowly, eyes glassy. “I didn’t, I didn’t take anything. I swear. I swear, Dante.”
“I believe you,” I said immediately. “I believe you.”
Her eyes searched mine, desperate for that truth like it was oxygen.
“He,” She coughed, a ragged sound, then winced, hand lifting toward her throat.
I glanced at the bruises again and it took everything in me not to lose it.
“He choked me,” she whispered. “I couldn’t, I couldn’t breathe. I fought him. I scratched him. I tried.”
“You did,” I murmured. “You did.”
Her eyes squeezed shut. “He kept choking. And I, I started to see spots. And then it was fuzzy. Like I was floating.”
My throat tightened. “You passed out.”
She nodded faintly. Then her gaze shifted slightly, toward her arm. Toward the bandage.
“I remember pain,” she whispered. “Here.”
I followed her eyes, heart pounding.
“He injected you,” I said, voice low and deadly. “I think. The hospital think you were drugged. And looking at the marks, the state you were in, I think you were drugged and possibly overdosed.”
Char’s face crumpled. “I think so. I remember his hand. Something sharp. And then cold all over. And then nothing.”
The nurse at the corner of the room shifted, expression hardening.
I swallowed, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. “Do you remember what he injected? A syringe? A pen? Anything?”
Char shook her head weakly. “No.”
“Do you remember him saying anything? About what it was?” I asked.
She blinked slowly. “He said, ‘This’ll make you quiet.’”
My vision blurred with rage. I exhaled through my nose, trying to keep from shaking. “Char, listen to me. Nita is here. She’s been trying to see you. They won’t let her in yet, but she’s here. You’re not alone.”
A sob escaped her, quiet and broken. “Nita, she’s gonna worry.”
“Shhh. Baby, yes,” I said. “She’s here. She’ll be in here as soon as she can.”
Char’s eyes drifted again, heavy with exhaustion, but she fought to keep them open. “Dante,” she whispered, and her voice had that small, scared edge that took me straight back to the first time I saw her, bruised and trying to make herself disappear.
“I’m here,” I said.
Her gaze flicked toward the door, fear rising again. “Is he caught? Is he in jail?”
For a moment, I wondered if I should tell her the truth because I don’t want her to be in fear. But I also knew people function better on facts. “He ran,” I said. “But he’s not coming back in here. I promise you. We’ve got officers outside. And we’re going to find him. I’m going to find him.”
Char’s breathing hitched, her chest rising and falling faster. Panic.
I leaned in closer, lowering my voice. “Look at me. Char. Look at me.”
Her eyes found mine. “You’re safe,” I repeated, slow and steady. “You’re safe right now. Just breathe with me. In… out…close your eyes.”
Her breaths gradually slowed, though tears continued to slip down her temples into her hair.
The nurse stepped forward. “That’s enough, officer. She needs rest.”
I nodded sharply, even though it felt like I was being asked to leave someone behind on a battlefield. Every instinct inside me screamed to stay with her, but I had to go. I squeezed Char’s hand one more time. “I’m going to talk to Nita,” I whispered. “I’ll come back.”
Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else, but her eyes fluttered. And then she was slipping under again. Before I turned away, I looked at her throat one more time. Those bruises weren’t just injuries. They were evidence. A map of what he did.
And I felt something change inside me, something hard and cold sliding into place. I had been a cop long enough to know there were bad men. But this wasn’t just bad.
This was fundamentally wrong. People weren’t possessions. They weren’t pets to be punished for getting off a leash. This was a man out of control. This was the work of a monster disguised as a man. And it had my people in its teeth.