by Zahra Girard
When he puts his foot on my throat and smiles at me with murderous menace, all I can do is whimper.
“Something interesting turned up in the city morgue the other day. Do you want to guess what it was?”
I don’t. I couldn’t tell him even if I wanted to, not with my larynx under pressure the way it is. So I gurgle something noncommittal; in my head, it sounds like I don’t know, please take your foot off my throat, but, in reality, it’s just a bunch of wet babbling noises.
“My brother. My fucking brother. Nico. Found in a ditch and half-eaten by coyotes. It was fucking disgraceful seeing him like that. So, I thought I’d pay you a visit and see if you knew anything about it,” he says, and he lowers himself until his face is just above mine. In his cold brown eyes, I can see myself dying a hundred times over. “Do you know what happened to my brother?”
Blood pounds in my ears and my eyesight flickers as his foot constricts my breathing to a level that would barely suffice for a hamster.
Kael is inches from killing me, but there’s something he doesn’t know: I am a damn good liar.
I don’t look away from him. Don’t even blink. No matter how afraid I am of him crushing my throat, I sure as hell will not give up the truth to this malignant tumor of a man.
Inwardly, I scream. No, I know nothing about your brother. Get the hell out of my house.
Eventually, he blinks.
Then, bit by bit, he raises his foot off my throat until breathing is no longer a herculean task.
“Get up,” he spits.
Literally, he spits on my floor. My living room carpet, no less.
The man is a vile piece of shit.
I stand. I glare my question at him because my throat isn’t in any condition to talk just yet. What do you want?
“I came to see how my favorite nurse is doing. And to tell you that you need to make sure you’re on duty at the hospital a week from now at midnight.”
One week from today?
He grins. “Just then. We have some business to take care of with a few locals first, but things should be settled by then. So, next week, in one big and wonderful night, you settle your brother’s debt to my family.”
And then, as quietly as he broke into my home, Kael Makris leaves me alone with my terrified thoughts and my mother’s famous pancakes.
I stare at the door. I’ve chased away my one protector. My career is hanging by a thread. I’m all alone and time is running out.
I am so fucked.
Chapter Seventeen
Razor
Cold steel bars, bleak barren walls, and a concrete bench. My cell doesn’t even have a window. Hours in solitude have passed since Hanratty threw me in this cell and it’s been long enough that I’m starting to run out of ways to imagine killing him.
Starting to.
I really hate that guy. Hated him a lot before this moment but, somehow, he keeps giving me reasons to hate him even more.
I think it’ll be a much longer time before I’m truly out of ways to imagine ending Hanratty’s life; the world is full of possibilities.
And besides, I’m focused. Because the alternative to thinking about getting revenge on Hanratty is to think about the state of things with Samantha and me. About how, for the first time in my life, I can imagine getting close to a woman, opening myself up to her, and how it’s all going to hell thanks to her stubbornness. How can she turn me away like that? How can she ignore the fact that I’m the best hope she’s got for coming out of this mess with the Makris family alive?
Not only am I losing a relationship with her, but that beautiful woman is going to end up losing her life. And the world is going to be a much darker place for it.
I shake my head clear. I’d rather not go down that dark depressing road. Murdering an almost-ready-for-retirement cop who always wants to bring me donuts is a much more cheery diversion. I focus my thoughts on hate for the man who, despite all his attempts at kindness, still reminds me of that son of a bitch who once called himself my father and who drove my mother to take her own life.
Hours later, the sound of the main door to this block of cells opening pulls me from a wonderful scenario where I’m alone with Hanratty in my old high school auto shop class and I’m showing him some new applications for a MIG welder.
Here’s a hint how it ends: he dies.
“Do you got your head on straight, Razor? If we let you out of there are you going to keep it cool, or do we need to give you a little more time to stew?”
It’s Stone. He’s giving me the disappointed dad look. It’s pretty fucking effective at making me feel like shit. Next to him is Hanratty, who at least has the decency to look chagrined at throwing me in jail.
“What the fuck was that for, Hanratty? I thought you worked for us.”
“It was for your protection, bud. I’m sorry, but it had to be this way.”
“Oh fuck off,” I snap. “Protection my ass.”
Stone clears his throat. “It’s true. I told him to bring you in. Chief Barnes has a BOLO out on you and Trips for that stunt you pulled earlier, but you can be fucking sure that, except for Hanratty here, any officer that ran into you sure as fuck would not bring you in alive. It’s a damned death sentence and a cover story for them to murder you. Trips is hiding out at the clubhouse right now until we have the all clear.”
“Oh, so the cops are out to kill me and your solution is to lock me up right in the middle of their fucking police station?”
Stone’s eyes flare at my tone and I immediately regret snapping at him. Thankfully, Hanratty steps in and, for some fucking reason, he’s still chill. The man has THC in his veins. “It’s the safest thing for you, bud. This way, you’re on the books and you’re under watch from security cameras. There’s a record and a paper trail. Chief Barnes might work for the Makris family on the side, but he’s sure as hell not going to risk doing something when you’re being watched like this.”
It kills me that he’s fucking right. God damn your cheerful ass to hell, Hanratty.
“So, what now?” I say.
“I’m bailing you out,” Stone says.
“And then?”
“Chief Barnes will probably drop the charges. If he’s even filed them, which it’s likely he hasn’t. He doesn’t want any kind of investigation into what he was really doing going after you outside of Fat Mike’s place,” Hanratty says. “Fat Mike has security cameras and I doubt the chief wants any of that footage entered in to evidence.”
“So that’s it? I spend some time in fucking detention and then I walk?”
Stone shakes his head. My stomach sinks.
“I’m sending you to Omaha. You leave now.”
“You’re joking.”
“Not joking. Not a single fucking bit. You’ve had your chance, kid. But you are out of time. That fire at my trucking yard means I have to speed up the delivery of that shipment. You have no fucking idea what the premiums cost me to keep that place insured. This club is a business, too, and we have to make the right decision for the future of our organization.”
“I’m making progress on it, Stone. I just need a little more time.”
“Progress? Really? You’re going to play that card? Because from where I’m standing it looks like you’re in jail for getting into a fight with the chief of police and that doesn’t qualify as progress in my book. I respect your hustle and your dedication, Razor, but this task just isn’t for you.”
“I’ve got leads. The eldest Makris brother, Kael, is coming to town, and the family is working to rip off St. Paul’s hospital. They deal in black market pharmacy drugs,” I say and I just start rattling off all the shit I’ve picked up about the lowlife Makris family over the last few days. Except for one important fact: that Samantha Baker is involved with them. Despite my pressing need to save my skin from a trip to the soulless void known as Omaha, I want to keep her out of this mess as much as possible. Who knows what might happen to her if someone like Mack or Blaze got it into
their heads that she was willingly working for the Makris brothers? I’m pissed as hell at her, but I don’t want to see that woman dead.
“And the club will follow up on all that. But that’s not your concern anymore. Your assignment is Omaha and then Salt Lake — that’s how you will help the club. This isn’t open for discussion. Crash and Mack are waiting for you outside. They’ve got your bike out there, too. They will escort you to the trucking yard and then you and Crash will escort the shipment all the way to Omaha.”
I nod. There’s no point in arguing with Stone. Not when he’s like this. Hell, there’s no real point in arguing with Stone ever. But the least I can do is warn Samantha that things have changed. She’ll need to be careful now that I won’t be around to watch her back.
“Fine, Stone, I get it. Omaha it is,” I say, then I turn to Hanratty. “I need my phone.”
Hanratty shakes his head. “Sorry, kid. It’s still logged in as evidence and it won’t be released until Chief Barnes officially releases it. But don’t worry, I’ll hold on to it for you.”
The cell door opens and Stone slips his arm around my shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you on the road. Just let the rest of this go, Razor. We’ll handle it.”
They lead me out into the parking lot and I mount my Harley. Stone hands me his pistol.
“Be safe out there, kid,” he says.
I start my bike without greeting Crash or Mack. All I’ve got are my cut, my bike, and a gun. No way to warn Samantha and not a chance to take a detour to say goodbye — especially not with Crash and Mack on my ass.
As I peel out of the lot and start towards the trucking yard, I utter a silent prayer that my Samantha will keep herself out of trouble while I’m gone.
Because, for the next couple weeks, she is well and truly on her own against a threat that’s bigger than she’s willing to admit.
If that woman isn’t careful, the next time I see her will be at her funeral.
Chapter Eighteen
Samantha
“Baker. My office. Now.”
Jackie Price’s words hit me like a bolt of lightning. I’m only an hour into my shift and, after making it that far without being yelled at or harassed by Dr. Ayers, I’d settled into a feeling of suspicious comfort and hope that maybe the events from the other night would not bite me in the ass.
The second I shut the door to Jackie Price’s office, I know that will not be the case. She’s glaring at me like I just handed out literature on the healing power of yogic breathing techniques for cancer treatment to every patient waiting in the ER.
Maybe it’s just my anger from breaking up with Razor that’s coloring how I view her. I need to keep my cool. All is not lost.
“Yes, Ms. Price?” I say as I take a seat.
After the beating that Kael Makris put on me, my body is screaming at me for even the simplest movements. Even the several extra-strength Ibuprofen I took before my shift haven’t done a darn thing. I’m sure a rib or two is out of alignment and the best thing for me to do would be to stay home, but I can’t. If I let on that I’m injured or do anything to jeopardize my shifts here at the ER, my brother and I are as good as dead. And tortured. And mutilated.
“I had a long chat with Dr. Ayers earlier,” she says. Her voice reminds me of an iceberg. “He had some interesting things to say about you and the company you like to keep after hours. Then I had another long chat with a few of the hospital administrators. They had some interesting things to say about you, too.”
“What did they say?”
“The consensus is that you’re a talented nurse with a great background, which means the fact that you’re fucking yourself over even more maddening. Not to mention that Dr. Ayers is filing a formal complaint against you for your after-hours behavior. What I have to tell you isn’t something that I enjoy, Baker. In fact, I’m absolutely furious that I have to sit down across from you and tell you that, after tomorrow, you’re officially on leave for two weeks.”
My jaw drops so hard and fast that it’s a wonder I don’t crack my mandible on the floor. “What?”
“We all agree that you need some time to get your head on straight. You are so skilled and could be such an asset to this hospital. In time, and I mean a short amount of time, it wouldn’t surprise me if you were managing your own team. But your priorities are so out of order that it makes me want to scream. I have never seen anyone so determined to destroy their own career.”
She’s right, but for all the wrong reasons. I am destroying my career, but not out of some misguided mindfuckery of believing that I’m above and beyond any rules. I’m destroying my career because I care so goddamn much about protecting my loved ones from their shortsighted decisions.
Despair wells up inside me. I’m failing. In every aspect — protecting my brother, having a career, having a relationship with Razor — I am failing.
When I look over at Jackie, I can see that she’s expecting me to fight. Her jaw is clenched, her eyes have that half-slitted look she gets when she has to read any handwritten note from any of the doctors on staff — suspicious, alert, and focused.
But I can’t fight her. She’s holding all the cards — any argument would just be digging myself a deeper grave and, thanks to the Makris brothers and my breakup with Razor, my grave is deep enough already. I’m already hitting bedrock.
I can’t give up. I want to fight, but I have to be smart about this. I must find another way to meet my obligation to the Makris family. At least Jackie hasn’t banned me from the building. Maybe I can work that angle.
“I understand, Jackie.”
“You should get back to your shift,” she says. “Near the end of your shift tomorrow, we’ll have a per diem shadow you and you can over with them any outstanding issues or patients that they need to be aware of. Be thorough.”
“Yes, Jackie.”
I leave her office feeling cowed, almost as cowed as I felt when Kael Makris beat the crap out of me earlier. My job is so important to me; more than a way to earn a living, caring for others is part of who I am. I feel so lucky to have found a career that resonates with who I am. And Jackie just put me on notice that a huge part of my identity is on the chopping block if I keep acting out.
“I’m still willing to help you out, you know.”
As if he was waiting for my moment of weakness, Dr. Ayers approaches me with a cup of coffee in his hand and a slick smile on his face. Every time I see him, I’m reminded of the fact that he wears a handsome mask over his disgusting soul.
“I’m not interested.”
“Don’t play dumb with me. Everyone knows you care about your job. I can make that complaint go away in a second and get your suspension dropped right after. All you need to do is go out on a date with me.”
“A date? Like before?”
“Except this time you have a better understanding of the rules. You know what I want and I know what you want. This is just two consenting adults exchanging favors to get each other the best outcome.”
I’m ashamed to admit that, for a passing second, I’m tempted. Then my common sense sets in and I realize that there’s not enough alcohol and desperation in the world to get me to climb into bed with that parasite of a man. The only man in this town I’m interested in climbing into bed with is Razor. And only then if he apologizes.
“Not interested.”
“I know you are.”
“Back the fuck away from me or I swear to Christ I will claw your eyes out,” I snap in a voice so vicious I surprise myself.
“You will regret it, Samantha. But if you ever change your mind about keeping your job, you know how to find me. Hate-fucks can be a fun experience. Maybe you should try it. It’d definitely help you stop being so emotional.”
“Leave. Now.”
He leaves and I watch him go, imagining how it would look to plunge a scalpel in the back of his head. Gratifying, I bet.
Then the cold reality of my situation sets in. Beyond the rage at D
r. Ayers’ lecherous behavior and the surprising disappointment I feel in myself at Jackie Price’s reprimand, I will be absolutely fucked and murdered if I don’t get some help.
And there’s only one person I can think of to call. I need to swallow my pride.
I need him.
This is more than I can handle alone. Everyone at work is set on preventing me from doing what I need to do and there’s only one person out there who I know actually cares about protecting me. Whether or not we agree on the methods, I know he cares.
I feel for my cell phone in my pocket. I take it out and send a single-word text to Razor: Help.
He’s my only chance. Without him, I’m dead.
Chapter Nineteen
Razor
We drive right through Las Vegas without stopping. All the neon lights, the cheap alcohol, the gambling, the chance for a distraction from the gnawing feeling of dread that is welling up inside me over the possibility of what could happen to Samantha while I’m away, flies by in the matter of a few minutes.
In fact, we don’t stop at all in the entire state of Nevada; we cut through the southern chunk of the state and don’t take our first real rest stop until we’re in Utah. Our stopping point is a small town called Respite, which is an absolute lie of a name considering the state’s liquor laws mean beer sold in any of the town’s convenience stores has all the strength of a diet soda.
I’ve got no phone, no purpose except tailing behind an eighteen-wheeler, and no way to get even a decent beer for another three hundred miles.
All I can do is ride and think about how, yet again, I’ve let down someone close to me who needed me to protect them. First my mother, who needed someone — anyone — to stand up to my piece of shit father and now Samantha, who is in over her head with a violent gang and now has not a single damn person in her corner.
