When I turned around to see if Amy was all right, she was immobile, her face ashen. She swayed forward.
I caught her just before she hit the ground, lifted her over my shoulder, and walked as fast as I could out of that hell hole.
Hands shaking with rage, I buckled her in the front seat, careful not to look at her body as I gently placed her legs inside the car. Anger slammed through me, clouding my vision as I belted her into the front seat. My hands shook so badly it took me three tries to finally latch the buckle—a fourth try would have had me ripping the damn thing from the car and saying to hell with it. I couldn’t control the damn shaking, couldn’t control the anger that I’d kept at bay for five years. Anger that Sergio had forced me to do the unthinkable, anger that my family had told me that the De Langes would never find out. And of course there was also the anger that it was my fault she was in this position in the first place.
I shut the door and then promptly kicked the tire until my foot hurt. When that didn’t make me feel better I got in the car and started the engine. It would be a hell of a long drive back to Chicago, especially with me threatening to go all Hulk at any second, but we had a few stops to make first. I had no one to blame but myself, it had been my bright idea not to fly. I thought it would give me time to think about things.
But my decision to “find myself” had almost ended up in disaster. What if I had arrived five minutes later? What if she had gone on stage? What if he had hit her again?
My knuckles were white as I gripped the steering wheel. I drove towards her small apartment, the only other address Sergio had given me, and parked in front of it.
She still hadn’t woken up.
When I whispered her name, she didn’t budge.
Panicked, I called Sergio.
When he didn’t answer… I begrudgingly called the boss, Nixon.
“What?” he barked into the phone. “Any trouble?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I said tersely. “But, she passed out.”
“So wake her up.”
“She won’t wake up.” Did whispering her name count as trying to wake her?
A long pause, then, “Did you hurt her? I swear if you hurt her I’m going to—”
“No!” I yelled. “What the hell, Nixon! I’m your cousin! I wouldn’t touch her.” Not in that way. My eyes roamed her body. I hated myself in that moment, hated that when I thought about touching her, my entire core heated like someone had tried to set me on fire but forgotten to blow out the flame. It burned, and burned, and burned. I was consumed with the need to touch her.
“Ax?”
“Sorry.” I nervously glanced in her direction, flexing my free hand acros the steering wheel. “How long before I take her to the hospital?”
“She probably passed out from shock, man. Give her time, alright? Try to wake her up, make sure she gets some food and water. If she’s not breathing, that’s when you call the hospital. If she turns blue or if she starts saying she sees dead people or some shit like that. But until then, just take care of her.”
“Right.”
“You can handle this, Ax. This is what we do.”
“Rescue young girls?”
Nixon laughed. He actually laughed. My mouth dropped open in shock. Sergio had said things were different. The Nixon I remembered from childhood was too haunted to laugh, too pissed at the world to remember to smile. “It’s a new game, man. New players. The mafia isn’t want it used to be, the Family isn’t run by old guys with something to prove. All that’s left is us… the kids… the product of a shitty upbringing, and change is coming.”
“Apparently,” I said under my breath.
“Heard that.”
“I’ll call if I need anything.”
“Call Campisi, he deserves a little interruption from his honeymoon.”
“He’s on his honeymoon?”
“I’d rather not discuss him and my sister.”
“Noted.”
“Any difficulties, text me or call him. I mean it.”
“Um, thanks.”
“Any time.”
I hung up and stared at my phone for a few seconds before I heard Amy moan.
Slowly, she raised her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes. “My cheek hurts.”
My racing pulse slowed, time slowed.
She turned to me and gasped again. “It is you.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “How?”
My heart pounded as the pooled tears spilled over her cheeks, cascading down perfect smooth skin. I reached out to touch her but she slapped my hand away.
“How!” she yelled then pushed against my chest. I reached for her but she just kept pushing and fighting me. “I don’t understand!”
“Yeah.” I licked my lips and gripped her wrists. “Me either, but you just passed out. Can you calm down a bit? I need to make sure you’re alright and I can’t do that with you hitting me.”
Strength left her body; and she slumped in her seat. More tears fell, and my heart broke all over again as she wiped them away. Then her fingers touched the red mark on her face, and she winced.
I grimaced. “How’s your cheek?”
“It hurts.” She huffed. I damn near had to sit on my hands to keep myself from reaching out to wipe away the rest of her tears. The angry bruise begged for a loving touch—but I had a sickening feeling that was the last thing she would think when my fingers grazed the spot. “Really bad. He was wearing a few rings on that hand.”
“I’ll kill him,” I said softly. “But let me at least feed you first.”
“You’re serious aren’t you?”
“I never joke about whose life I take,” I answered honestly. “And if we keep talking about him, you won’t get food because I’ll be too pissed to wait.”
“Don’t.” She swallowed. “Don’t kill him, that isn’t you.”
“But you never knew me to begin with,” I said sadly. “Did you?”
Her face fell as her lower lip quivered. Damn it.
“I guess not.” She folded her arms across her chest — making it that much harder not to stare — and looked out the window. “So, I just got fired I’m thinking. Tomorrow I’ll be on the streets. Thanks for the save…” She reached for the door handle.
“Not so fast.” I moved my hand across hers. “We’re only here to grab what you need and then we’re going back.”