The next few minutes prove there really is a hell on earth.
I watch as the paramedic works on Derek, and somehow, by the time we pull into the hospital driveway, Derek’s heart is beating again. He’s breathing, but I’m not sure I am. Even before the vehicle pauses, the doors of the ambulance are yanked open and I just get the hell out of the way, exiting and allowing the paramedics to lift Derek’s stretcher, and him with it, out of the vehicle. A cluster of people instantly surround him, instructions being shouted, the bed being rolled toward the hospital entrance.
Double-stepping to keep pace, I scan for Emily’s ambulance, an iron fist around my heart at her absence. “Where the fuck is she?” I murmur, pulling my phone from my pocket as Seth appears out of nowhere.
“What the hell happened in that restaurant?” he asks, making this the first time I’ve seen him since Ramon’s men blocked his entry into Martina’s place with me.
“Aside from finding them both in their present conditions,” I say, “my brother took a couple of bullets for Emily.” I punch Eric’s number into my cell as he exits the sliding glass doors in front of us, blood streaking his clothes. “Where’s Emily?” I demand, returning my phone to my blood-drenched pocket.
“They took her back for tests,” he says, “but they need a responsible party to sign her in.”
I nod and step around him, entering the emergency room and heading to the counter to greet the female attendant in scrubs behind it. “My brother and my wife were just admitted,” I say with no hesitation in claiming that bond with Emily for personal and legal reasons. She might not be my wife yet, but she will be soon if I have my way. If she’ll still have me at all. If I should even dare believe I can be worthy of her now.
The attendant eyes my bloodstained shirt, her expression unchanged as she says, “I’ll need insurance or credit card information.”
I remove my wallet and slide the company insurance information across the counter, along with my black Amex card. Questions and paperwork follow, and I arrange for the private wing, the place the elite go to hide from the press. Because right now any press linking our family to a cartel is the last thing we need. I’ve finally finished what needs to be finished when I hear, “Mr. Brandon.”
Turning, I find a police officer standing with Seth and Eric. “Yes?” I ask, irritated at the timing, impatient for an update on Derek and Emily.
“Can we ask you some questions?”
“You can ask me to read you the dictionary for all I care,” I say. “But not until I know my brother and my wife are stable.” Neither Seth nor Eric blink at my reference to Emily as my wife, and I don’t wait for the officer to agree or disagree with anything I have to say. I offer him my back and return my attention to the desk. “I need to know what’s happening to them now.”
“The Brandon family! I need the Brandon family.”
At the shout from the other side of the room, I rotate and spot a woman in scrubs as the source of the inquiry. “Here!” I call out, ignoring the police officer still hovering, and making a beeline for her by way of the packed waiting area. “I’m Shane Brandon,” I say, stopping in front of her. “Derek’s my brother. How is he? And my wife. Emily. She was—”
“She’s stable and unconscious,” she says. “They’re running a CT scan on her now and then we’ll get her to a room.”
“Stable,” I repeat, not prepared to have that equal relief. “Are you the doctor?”
“A nurse,” she corrects me.
“And you’ve been told she’s stable?”
“Yes.”
“Defined as what?”
“Defined as stable,” she repeats. “And in testing right now. Your brother, however, is in critical condition. Aside from losing a dangerous amount of blood, one of the bullets is lodged in his heart.”
My own heart damn nearly stops beating. “And?”
“He’s in surgery. If you’d like to come with me, we can get you set up in the private waiting area until your wife and brother are situated in rooms.”
“I’ve talked to the front desk about setting Derek and Emily up in the private wing,” I say. “I assume that’s in progress.”
“If you’ve set it up, it’ll happen,” she says, and without waiting for my reply, she turns away, pushing through a set of double doors. I follow, the scent of sickness and death scorching my nostrils, while Seth and Eric appear on either side of me, the police officer thankfully gone now. Eric should be as well, and I’d tell him as much, but the nurse stops in front of a doorway and faces me, or rather us, her gaze shifting between Eric and Seth then back to me. “I’ll have one of the aides bring a few pairs of scrubs.”
I give a curt nod, but she’s already rushing away. Peering into the small, boxy waiting area, I confirm it’s empty and enter the room, seeing fifteen or so chairs—some down the middle and others lining the walls to the left and right of me. A large window is the only thing distinguishing it from an oversized casket about to suck me in and do me in all at once.
“You need to leave before you get any deeper into this,” I say, rotating to face Seth and Eric, my attention on Eric.
Eric gives a bitter laugh and lifts his hands at his sides. “I’m covered in blood. I’m as deep as it gets. And we both know I wasn’t brought there tonight to simply walk away. What the hell was that back there?”
I eye Seth with a silent question he answers without hesitation. “Martina just enlisted you as his newly anointed cartel doctor, is my assumption.”
“Holy hell,” Eric growls, scrubbing his jaw, which manages to be clean-shaven despite the late hour. “No,” he adds. “No, that isn’t happening. I saw nothing to give him that kind of control over me. And I agreed to absolutely nothing.”
“This wasn’t about your agreement,” Seth says. “This was a test. He measured your reactions under pressure. Unless you failed, and I doubt you did, he’ll create whatever ammunition is needed to ensure you respond when he needs you to respond.”
“No,” I say, meeting Eric’s stare. “That’s not going to happen. That’s not what he meant to happen.”
“Then what did he mean to happen, Shane?” Eric demands.
My jaw sets as the realization of just what a bastard Martina really is hits me. “He needs leverage to control me after tonight. I’ll handle it. Go home.”
“Leverage, why?” he questions. “What are you involved in?”
“Derek got into bed with Martina’s sister and showed up on Ramon’s radar for that reason,” I say, telling him nothing more. “Just as you were told.”
“And Martina’s part of a drug cartel,” Eric supplies.
“Yes,” I say, again telling him as little as possible.
“And he needs ammunition against you, why?” he presses.
Seth and I exchange a look, and Seth replies with, “It’s who he is,” Seth says. “It’s what he does.”
The non-answer earns Seth a look of irritation from Eric. “He wants me to negotiate your freedom,” I say.
“Negotiate,” he repeats. “So I’m ammunition against you.”
“Correct.”
“What does he want from you, Shane?”
“This doesn’t concern you, Eric,” I state.
“After tonight, it concerns me,” he snaps. “I have a right to ask questions.”
“You have a right to get the hell out of this,” I say.
“Distance yourself,” Seth urges. “Far away. In fact, take a vacation for a couple of weeks.”
“I have surgeries scheduled,” he states. “I’m not taking a vacation.”
“Knock, knock,” a female voice says, and we all look toward the door to find a woman in some sort of flowery scrub shirt, indicating the green scrubs in her hands. “I brought clothes.”
Seth moves toward her and takes them while I get to what’s important. “Any news for us otherwise?”
“Sorry,” she says. “I’m just an aide. I don’t have any news at all.” She disappears into the hallway while Seth hands a set of scrubs to Eric.
“Change. Then go home, Eric.”
Eric ignores him and focuses on me. “Shane—”
“Go the fuck home,” I order. “You’re safe.”
“Seth just told me to leave town,” he reminds me. “That doesn’t feel safe.”
“Because you can’t stop asking questions,” Seth states irritably. “And you need to. Which is exactly why I’ll have a man escort you to your house and we’ll watch it until this passes. Not to keep you safe. To keep you out of this.”
Again, Eric ignores Seth and speaks to me. “How, exactly, is it going to pass?”
“My way,” I assure him.
His lips thin. “I’m not leaving until I know Derek and Emily are stable.”
“The longer you stay,” I say, “the more power you give Martina to pull you into this.” I inhale a heavy breath and let it out. “Look. I appreciate the hell out of what you did tonight. I owe you in ways I can’t ever repay. But I need you to leave. Now.”
“What does he want from you, Shane?” Eric presses.
“If he’s smart,” I say, “to keep breathing.” My jaw sets. “Eric—”
“I’ll go,” he bites out. “But I need an update on Derek and Emily as soon as you get one.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” Seth promises.
Eric finally offers us an agreeable nod and accepts the scrubs Seth is still trying to shove his way, before turning and heading for the door. I inhale again, this breath a bit thinner, easier. Once he’s gone, I face the window without seeing anything beyond the glass. There is just Emily’s pale face and Derek’s bloodied body. “You should change,” Seth suggests. “The blood just reminds the police they need to talk to you.”
“I should have gone to dinner with her,” I say, cutting him a look, my mind going to Jessica’s panicked phone call and the details she shared. “Cody,” I say. “Jessica said they were poisoned right before Emily was kidnapped.”
“He was admitted for the night here, at this hospital, about two hours ago,” he says. “Jessica wasn’t anywhere near in his condition.”
“She wasn’t admitted?”
“No, but they pumped Cody’s stomach and filled him with counteractive drugs of some sort. And still he manages to ask about Emily. He feels like he let her and you down.”
“I let her down,” I say, my throat raw with the admission I won’t hide from. “I should have gotten her the hell out of this city until Martina was out of the picture.”
“Obviously, you need to be reminded as to why that wasn’t possible. Martina would have seen that as a war cry. He would have followed her. He would—”
“I get it,” I snap, cutting him a sharp look. “I know the reasons and they weren’t good enough.”
His expression tightens and he faces the window while I do the same. “What about your parents?” he finally asks. “When are you going to call them?”
“My father’s in Germany, fighting for his life,” I say. “My mother’s there, watching it happen, and no matter what their relationship, that has to be hell. Nothing good can come out of me calling either of them now.”
There’s a shift in the air, and Seth and I rotate to find a thirtysomething man in a gray suit, a good two-day stubble on his jaw, standing in the doorway. “Mr. Brandon and Mr. Cage.”
“And you are?” Seth asks, his tone sharp, his energy sharper.
The man reaches into his pocket and removes a badge. “Federal Agent Brian Dennis.”
This news sits about as easily as gasoline, considering I’ve spent months avoiding FBI involvement with Brandon Enterprises and that Martina himself has now shoved them right up my fucking ass. “What can we do for you, Agent?” I ask, my tone even, unaffected, while that precious control I value is teetering on the edge of expulsion.
He gives my bloodstained clothes a once-over before narrowing his eyes at me. “It’s more what I can do for you.”
“Unless you came to tell me my brother and wife are both fully recovered, there isn’t much you can do for me right now,” I assure him.
He glances at Seth. “We need a minute.”
Seth looks at me, and I motion for his departure, and while his expression remains unchanged, I sense the crackle of unease in him, the hesitation, before he heads to the hallway. The agent claims a chair by the wall, no doubt trying to pull down my defenses by leaving me in a power position. It’s reverse psychology, and I don’t like being toyed with. I don’t like other people being in control, which is exactly what I’ve allowed to happen, or my woman and my brother wouldn’t be fighting for their lives right now. Removing the agent’s perceived upper hand, I sit in one of the chairs lined up down the middle of the room, directly across from him.
“All right, Agent Dennis,” I say. “You obviously want to talk, so talk. But be clear. The minute they walk in here with news about my brother or my woman, this conversation ends. Make your minutes count.”
He takes me at my word and gets right to the point. “Why are you involved with Martina?”
“I’ll be as direct as you just were,” I reply. “The short version. My brother met Martina’s sister, Teresa, and fell in love. Ramon was in love with Teresa, and the rest is pretty obvious.”
“That explains your brother’s involvement with Martina, but not yours.”
“I wanted my brother out of the Martina circle,” I say. “That didn’t go over well with my brother, who insisted Martina was legit and that I was an asshole for judging him by his father, considering our father is no one either of us wants to claim as our role model.” And because I am now certain they’ve been watching, I add, “I met Adrian. He showed up to welcome me to the family. I saw who he was that day. I knew I was right about him, and thus I worked to get my brother the hell away from him and Teresa.”
“Obviously, you failed.”
“Ironically, the bitter pill to this is that I did not. Teresa wanted to protect him as well. She left him and it jolted him enough to get him to step away from the company. He was leaving the city.”
He stares at me several long beats, calculation in his brown eyes. “Help me get him.”
“Ramon’s dead.”
“We both know I’m not talking about Ramon.”
Anger comes at me hard and fast. “Let me get this straight,” I say, leaning forward, my elbows on my knees. “My brother and my woman could be dead before this night is out, and you see this as an opportunity to recruit me to help you.” I stand up. “Conversation over.”
He pushes to his feet. “Your association with Martina is a dangerous one.”
“Whatever threat you think to issue is not only poorly timed, but misplaced. And whoever else you might intimidate with your badge, I’m not on the list.”
“We both know Brandon Enterprises has gray areas, something you shared a little too legitimately with Martina.”
“If you’re on a witch hunt,” I say, “you’re going to need an attorney as good as me to fight me, and you won’t find one.”
His jaw sets hard and he scrubs it, that stubble of his giving a loud rasp. “Look.” He presses his hands to his hips. “My timing isn’t the best here, but I won’t apologize for wanting to take down Martina. He’s a monster hiding in a two-thousand-dollar suit.”
“He wouldn’t be seen in a two-thousand-dollar suit. It would be beneath him at that price tag, which tells me you don’t know him. Figure him out or you’ll never take him down.”
“Help me.”
“No,” I say. “My family had a brush with that man, and you see where that got them.”
Our eyes lock and hold. “I don’t believe for a minute you’re going to let him get away with this.”
“Ramon did this. Not Martina.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“No, Agent. That’s my final answer.”
“I’ll ask again.”
“You mean you’ll look for a way to force my hand. I can promise you, you won’t find it. I’ve taken over the company for a reason. We do things right. And right doesn’t involve you.”
He stares at me for several heavy beats before he says, “Good luck with your family,” and heads toward the door, pausing to turn and face me again. “Wearing those bloodstained clothes is like wearing the self-blame and guilt. You might even decide it’s what you deserve, but those things can be dangerous if unchecked. No telling where it might lead you, and me.”
He turns and exits with the promise that he’s watching me, his intent clear. He wants to box me into helping him, but I don’t want his form of justice. I want revenge. Sweet, bloody revenge: on Martina, for playing the games he played with my brother and my company. On Mike Rogers for fucking my mother and trying to take over our company. And on my fucking father, who pitted us all against one another and gave Martina a weakness to invade. Only, cancer is already taking its revenge on my father.
Eyeing the change of clothes Seth’s left on a chair for me, I snatch them up and exit into the hallway to find Seth talking with Agent Dennis. Ignoring them both, I enter the bathroom directly across from the lobby and lock the door. Alone now, out of anyone else’s view, I allow myself the first real breath I’ve taken since finding Derek and Emily in that office. I lean against the door, squeezing my eyes shut, my temples throbbing, that moment when I had to leave Emily on the floor to attend to Derek slicing through me. Then again, when I had to leave her in an ambulance alone, to ride with Derek to the hospital. What if he lives and she dies, and I wasn’t there for her?
What if they both die?
I shove off of the door, my hands balling into fists, the urge to hit something, or someone, almost too much to bear. Anger and pain consume me. I can’t fix this. I’m helpless. I should have done so many things differently, and my gaze goes skyward. “Please, God. I know I don’t talk to you often. I know I’m not the most religious man, but I try to be a good man. I try to do what is right. Please save them. Please heal them.”
My hands come down on the sink, and I think of the blood spilled tonight and the blood I want in return. “Save them and I won’t kill him,” I vow, opening my eyes to look in the mirror, blood streaking my cheek, and while blood is not familiar to me, it is to Adrian Martina. If Derek or Emily dies, my loss will be nothing to him. “I have to kill him,” I say, looking skyward again. “I can’t tell you that I won’t kill him. He needs to be sent to hell even if I have to go with him.”
Resolved with that decision, I push off the sink and strip out of my jeans, jacket, and once-white T-shirt, replacing them with the clean scrubs before splashing water onto my face. Drying off, feeling a bit more human, I consider tossing my clothes into the trash, but the detective’s words come back to me: Wearing those bloodstained clothes is like wearing the self-blame and guilt. You might even decide it’s what you deserve, but those things can be dangerous if unchecked.
Dangerous.
Me.
Unchecked.
Yes, I am.
And everyone responsible for today is going to find that out.
I’m keeping the clothes and the memories they represent.