End Game

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “I believe in taking precautions,” he says, and before I can repeat Eric’s observation that the ambulance should have beat him here, Adrian adds, “and your brother’s dire circumstances said he didn’t have much time.”

  “No thanks to you,” I say, pushing to my feet as he does the same, and I can feel the façade of control I’m clinging to begin to crack. “And we both know,” I add, the two of us glaring at each other over my brother’s body, “that ‘buy him some time’ means you were covering something up before you called for help.”

  “The ambulance was called,” he repeats, his tone as sharp as the knife of emotion cutting through me.

  “Not soon enough,” I say, and snap, lunging toward him only to have Eric suddenly grab my shoulders.

  “Derek,” he says. “Think of Derek.”

  “I am thinking of Derek,” I grind out. “And Emily.”

  “Later,” he says. “Do this later.”

  Voices sound in the building, and suddenly the paramedics are rushing into the room, dissolving the tension in the air and replacing it with urgency and chaos. I back up, giving the uniformed men space as Adrian does the same. Eric, on the other hand, stands in the mix of things, helping the crew. I’m pushed back farther, and Adrian and I end up standing side by side, watching them work. But he’s not present to me. There is just me, alone, waiting to hear if the woman I want to be my wife and the brother I love no matter what his flaws live or die.

  I can see the paramedics working feverishly to insert IVs into both Derek and Emily, one of them calling ahead for blood as they do. I’m outside the restaurant as Derek and Emily are rolled toward two separate ambulances.

  “You can only go with one of them,” Eric says. “I’ll go with Derek in case he needs help. You go with Emily.”

  With that offer, he’s saved me the torment of deciding between the two, and I nod my appreciation, quickly moving to Emily’s side, where a paramedic is adjusting her IV, looking less than pleased for some reason. “I’m her husband,” I say with zero hesitation. “Is there a problem beyond the obvious head injury?”

  “Just trying to get the fluid moving properly,” he says, his attention on her arm, not me, and I reach for her delicate little hand. It’s cold. Her face is pale. My heart is breaking. I lean in close to her cheek, my mouth near her ear. “I need you, woman. You can’t leave me. That’s an order.”

  “We need to get her into the vehicle,” the paramedic says while another appears beside me and forces me to once again back away from someone I love, and trust her to someone else. It’s killing me. Driving me out of my fucking mind.

  “Shane.”

  I rotate to find Eric standing outside the ambulance. “He’s asking for you. Come. I’ll go with Emily.” I see Emily’s stretcher being lifted into the ambulance, and by the time I turn to Eric again, he’s in front of me.

  “He’s not good, man,” he warns, his hand on my shoulder, when he might as well have dug a blade into my chest. “Be with him,” he encourages. “I’ll take care of Emily.” He eyes the paramedic and me. “Go now before they leave us both.” He takes off to the ambulance with Emily inside, and I watch as the doors to Derek’s ambulance begin to close.

  “Wait!” I call out, charging forward. “I’m his brother. I’m coming with you.”

  “Shane?” the man asks.

  “Yes. Shane.”

  He gives a nod and inches the door open, backing up to allow my entry. I climb inside, and I don’t have to ask how the paramedic knew my name. Derek moans out, “Shane,” from his stretcher, his eyes shut, a monitor to the right of him, while the paramedic maneuvers to allow me to take a spot to the left of Derek.

  “I’m here,” I say, kneeling beside him, the doors shutting with a thundering crash as I do, sirens screeching through the air, with the promise that death is on the run. “I’m here.” I repeat.

  His lashes flutter and his eyes open. “Shane,” he whispers, but even as he looks at me, I’m not sure he really sees me.

  “Yes,” I say. “Shane. It’s me. I’m here.” I pull his hand into mine. And it’s cold. Too damn cold. “I’m here,” I repeat, because as much as I want to tell him that he’s going to be okay, and as fucked up as our family is, I myself have never lied to him. I’m not going to start now. Maybe I should. Maybe a bittersweet lie is what he needs to hear.

  “Emily?” he asks.

  “She’s stable.”

  “What … what…”

  “She hit her head.”

  “Damn it,” he curses, blood pooling on his lip. “I tried…”

  “You saved her,” I assure him, his words and his distress telling me I was right. He took those bullets for her. “She hit her head. She’ll be okay.” Words I refuse to accept as one of the lies I swore I wouldn’t tell.

  “I didn’t mean … Things just…”

  “I know,” I say, glancing at his monitor and noting his low blood pressure with concern. “We’ll get through this,” I add, refocusing on him.

  “Fuck Martina,” he whispers, his expression fierce. “Save … our company.”

  “We’ll save it together when you get well.”

  “Promise me. Promise … you will … save—”

  I squeeze his hand. “Derek.”

  “Promise me, damn it.”

  “I promise,” I say, hating the sense of “the end” he’s giving me.

  His lashes lower and lift. “Teresa … tell Teresa … I … love her.”

  “You can tell her.”

  “Tell her, Shane.” There’s a white line around his lips that seems to thicken. “Please.”

  “I will,” I promise. “I’ll tell her.”

  “One … last thing…”

  “Okay,” I say, that word “last” grinding through me. “What is it?”

  “Tell Pops … tell him … I’ll see him in hell, and he … won’t be king.” His lashes lower again and his expression relaxes, as if he’s at peace with our exchange. Or just unconscious. “Is his blood pressure a problem?” I ask, turning to the paramedic.

  “Yes,” the man says. “But we can’t do much more until we get to the hospital.”

  “How long?”

  “Another five minutes.”

  Another five minutes, in which I will have no idea what Emily’s condition is, while praying I don’t watch my brother die, will be hell. I’ve no sooner finished that thought when Derek’s monitor flatlines.

  CHAPTER TWO

  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.