Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
MAVEN
Boston’s slate-gray eyes have become a favorite of mine, the way they assess me and eat me up all at the same time. When he drops to the ground after a loud bang sounds, and his eyes close, I lose it.
The man who shot him shifts the gun in my direction, I recognize him from the police station when I had go to in there to collect Carrie, and I reach for the knife in my waistband.
I don’t think twice before I throw it, and it hits him directly in the stomach, making the shot he fires miss me by inches and embed in a nearby tree.
I keep running toward Boston, my hair trailing behind me, my adrenaline pushing me faster.
The smart thing to do would be to go after the man as he flees, but for some reason, my heels won’t carry me that far, and I drop down next to my husband.
“Boston. Boston.” I caress his cheek, but he doesn’t stir.
Fuck, where was he hit? I’m careful as I search him for a wound to see where the blood is coming from. He grunts, and I release a relieved sigh, knowing he’s at least still breathing. I feel something wet seep through my pants and look down at the blood covering the cement below me.
Immediately, I call an ambulance, putting the phone down as I tell them where we are and try my best to slow the bleeding, pressing my hands over the wound. He’s been hit in the stomach, and, fuck, it looks bad. His whole front is covered in blood.
“Boston, talk to me,” I beg. “Don’t you dare die on me.
I need that milkshake,” I whisper, and for some reason, my vision is blurry, which I don’t understand.
I wasn’t shot; I’m perfectly fine. I raise one bloody hand, making sure to keep pressure on his stomach with the other, as I hear the wail of the sirens getting closer, and wipe my face so I can see better.
Tears.
I’m crying.
“Fuck,” I grumble as his eyelids flutter but remain closed. My phone starts ringing; it’s probably Carrie calling me back with the name of the person who ordered the hit. But that information might be unnecessary now since I saw the shooter’s face.
Footsteps approach from behind me, and a hand gently touches my shoulder, the person telling me to let go of Boston.
At first, I don’t want to move my hand, because what if I do and the blood starts pouring out even faster?
They whisper something to me, or at least I think they whisper, because I can hardly hear them talking.
Someone pulls me away as another takes over and immediately starts packing the wound with gauze.
I fall onto my ass and stare down at my feet. And for the first time in forever, I’m really mad at my heels. It wasn’t my husband’s blood I ever wanted them to be covered in. Maybe when I first met him, sure, but now I can’t think of anything worse than what I’m witnessing.
I can tell they’re trying to do everything they can to save him, and he makes another grumbling sound, which loosens something in my chest I didn’t even realize was squeezed so tight.
I manage to catch my breath as they put him on the gurney and wheel him toward the ambulance.
Before anyone says anything, I’m climbing in the back of the ambulance with them.
They continue to work on him, and his eyes remain closed as they shout a bunch of stuff at each other. I chew my nails as I sit and watch, completely helpless.
My phone keeps ringing, and I turn it off as we pull up to the hospital. I follow him in, and the paramedics turn to me as Boston is wheeled away. They’re asking me if I’m hurt, and all I can do is shake my head as I watch him disappear.
“You’re covered in blood. Is it all his?” one asks. I nod, my stomach tight and my heart heavy.
One of them shows me to the waiting room and tells me I’ll get an update when there’s information to share with me.
I sit, bouncing my leg and chewing my nails for what feels like an eternity before a doctor enters. They look around the waiting room until their gaze lands on me.
“Are you the detective’s family?” the doctor asks.
“No—” I stop myself and shake my head. “I’m his wife,” I whisper. The words echo in my head, over and over again. Tears I didn’t know had formed run down my cheeks, and I angrily swipe them away.
I’m his wife.
“We were able to remove the bullet.” I hang on to every single word that leaves the doctor’s mouth until he finally says the last words, which somehow completely dissolve the stiffness in my body. “He should make a full recovery. He’ll be out of it for a while and will need rest.”
I nod and smile at him. “Can I see him?”
“Yes. This way.” He takes me into a room where I find Boston lying in a bed. There’s a tube in his mouth, and he’s hooked up to so many machines that I don’t know where I can touch him. I pull a chair closer to his bed, sit down, and reach for his hand.
The door is suddenly pushed open, revealing two police officers. They ask if they can talk to me, and I stand, letting go of his hand as I make my way over to them.
“Sorry, but this is urgent. We want to find whoever did this,” the first one says. “We all care about Detective—”
I cut her off. “It was his partner. He shot him, then ran,” I tell them, and their eyes go wide like they can’t believe what I’m saying.
“Rolland?” the other asks.
“Yes. He also shot at me. Go back to the scene, and you’ll find a bullet in the tree near where my motorcycle is parked. I was running toward them when he tried to shoot at me.”
They exchange a skeptical look. They better fucking believe me because I’m not fucking lying. And if they don’t catch him, I fucking will. And if I do catch him, I’ll be sure to play with him a little bit before I hand him over. If I hand him over, that is.
“You can leave now,” a dark voice booms.
The officers turn to see Soren standing behind them. I walk back into the room, not wanting any part of whatever game it is they play, and take hold of Boston’s hand. I’m quietly watching him when I feel Soren enter the room.
“The doctor said he’ll recover,” he says, and it takes everything in me not to turn around and snap at him.
Not that he’s done anything wrong, but just because he holds so much power.
His presence commands a room. I think he assumes he has more rights here than others do.
I don’t pay him any attention, and he sits in the room with me in silence.
Laying my head on the bed next to our joined hands, I must pass out at some point, but then I’m suddenly woken by other voices.
“He’s okay, but I need you to do something for me.
” I sit up, and Victor is the first person I see.
He’s standing in the doorway speaking to Soren.
His eyes find mine, and he simply gives me a nod and then looks back to Soren, who glances over at me.
It’s at that moment that Cressida pushes her way into the room, holding a tray of coffees.
She walks past Soren and straight to me, offering me one.
“She prefers strawberry milkshakes,” a voice grumbles from the bed, and I jump to my feet to see that they must have taken his breathing tube out when I was asleep, but he still has a bunch of wires connected to him.
“You’re awake,” I say, smiling, and my eyes feel wet again. I angrily swipe at the tears as the smile remains on my face. His eyes, which I very much love, meet mine.
“Yes. Are you hurt?” he asks.
“No. He ran off.”
He nods, and his hand moves toward mine. I reach for his, grab hold, and slide my fingers through his.
“Boston,” Soren says as he comes up on the other side of the bed.
I wait for him to speak more, but he just lays a hand on Boston’s shoulder and tells him that he’s glad to see he’s still alive.
Maybe I didn’t give him enough credit. I just assumed he was only here because he had to tie up some loose ends, but maybe they do care for each other outside of their stupid fucking secret society.
Do they not realize they are grown-ass men, and they don’t need a fucking society to kill people? They can just get paid for it, as I do.
“How about we go and get some food, let them talk,” Cressida says to me.
I glance at Victor, then Soren, before I look back to the man in the bed, the one I would have gladly killed for.
The only person I would kill for before now is my sister, but I’ve somehow added him to that list—a list I never wanted to add another person to.
“You’re okay?” I ask him.
“Yes,” he says with a squeeze of my hand.
“I’m going to go home and change.”
He looks at me. “Are you changing into another pair of red heels?”
I can’t help but smile. He knows exactly what it means if I put on a red pair of heels.
He thinks I’m going to go after Rolland.
He’s not wrong. While I sat here, I thought about all the ways I want to kill his partner, but I wasn’t going to make my move until Boston was finally awake and better. Killing someone can wait.
“Put on the black ones instead, and come back,” he says.
“But I like the red ones,” I say with a pout.
“I know, but come back as soon as you’re showered and changed.” He’s basically asking me not to go after Rolland. He glances at Victor and then Victor looks at me, and it’s as if they had a silent conversation.
Leaning down, I give him a soft kiss on his cheek, careful not to put any weight on him or hurt him. When I walk out the door, Cressida follows, and I try not to look back.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
Victor steps out behind her, waiting for her to leave.
I wipe my face, which I’m sure is dirty.
“Yes. I need to take a shower.”
She smiles softly at me before she lays a hand on my arm, squeezing it. “I’m going to leave my number here if you need me. Please call or text. Whatever you need.” I nod, and she smiles before she goes back into the room.
Arlo arrives and takes one look at me before he storms past me and into the room. He starts talking, but I tune him out and turn my attention to Victor.
“He thinks you can babysit me?”
“He knows what a depraved little assassin you are,” he grumbles. “Move it, killer. I’m taking you home.” He steps past me, and as he does, I notice a woman walking toward us. I haven’t seen her before, but as she reaches the door, Soren appears. He says something to her, and she looks back at us.
“Her name is Maya. She’s Soren’s sister,” Victor says. “Crazy bitch, that one.”
He turns and heads down the hallway, and I have no reason not to follow.