One by one, they nod.
“I’m glad that sick motherfucker is dead,” Howie hisses. “I only wish I’d been there to see it.”
“Saint did us proud,” Caz says.
“About that.” Diesel sits back, rubbing a hand over his head, stifling a yawn. “We told the FBI Saint shot him in self-defense after he stabbed him. It’s best Saint corroborates that story when the FBI arrives tomorrow to question him.”
“Consider it done,” Theo says, lifting his eyes from his tablet.
“So, what happened with Randall?” Galen asks Diesel, leaning forward on his elbows.
“Did you know he was corrupt?” I add.
“I’d become suspicious, but it was more of an instinct than anything solid until I met with Doug, the new FBI agent assigned to the case. They had been investigating Randall for some time, and they knew he was dirty, but they had nothing concrete to charge him with. They knew he was knee-deep in this shit with the commissioner and The Sainthood. They were hoping either Giana or Diego would find something they could use to tie them all together. I wasn’t approached, because they weren’t sure if I was involved or not.” He pauses, cringing a little.
“Apparently, your dad had vouched for me, but after Trey was murdered, they couldn’t be certain I hadn’t been involved, so I was deliberately shut out,” he explains.
“Is it true Homeland and VERO killed my dad?” I didn’t have time to process that revelation during the showdown in the ballroom, but it’s been playing on a loop in my mind ever since.
“The FBI believe so although they have no proof. They intend to question Randall about it. He’s a selfish prick, and he might just throw his police and Homeland buddies into the fire to save his own ass.”
“They must’ve known Dad had the files.” I tug the blanket up, covering my shoulders, suddenly icy cold.
“Doug believes they did and that they approached your dad asking him to return them. When Trey denied all knowledge, they killed him. Or perhaps Homeland believed then that he didn’t have the files and they had to kill him as they’d drawn attention to themselves, or they suspected he was lying and they murdered him before he could do anything with them.” He shrugs. “It’s all supposition, but our guess is it was something like that.”
Caz slides his arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry, queenie.”
Diesel quirks a brow, and I smile. “My status has been elevated now I’m a married woman,” I explain. Diesel rolls his eyes, but it’s in good humor.
“Where is Randall now?” Theo asks.
“In FBI custody although I’m not sure if he’ll remain there,” Howie says. “You wouldn’t believe the politics.”
Galen snorts. “We’d believe just about anything at this point.”
“Is he going down for this?” I ask.
Diesel nods. “Most definitely. The recording from the ballroom and the Leydon evidence are enough to put him away, and as soon as the FBI has a warrant to search his home and office, I expect they’ll find more to charge him with. Plus, we have operatives willing to testify that he had planned to take everyone out tonight.”
“I thought as much,” I admit, yawning. Caz nudges my head toward his shoulder.
“We were prepared for it,” Diesel explains. “We brought Howie into our confidence last night, and we had a separate team lying in wait. As soon as Randall and his men swung their weapons on us, our guys moved into position.”
“He was outnumbered, and we took them down,” Howie confirms.
“It’s why we were late to the party, so to speak.” Diesel grimaces at his bad joke. “We wanted to ensure they were in custody and off the grounds.”
“What will happen to the commissioner?” I ask.
“He’s being taken in for questioning, and he’ll be charged too,” Diesel supplies.
“And what about the girls?” Caz inquires. “What’ll happen to them?”
“They’re being looked after, and they’ll be sent back home in time.” Diesel skims his gaze around the room. “You did good, guys. You’ve done a great thing.”
“What about The Sainthood?” Bry asks, his leg tapping on the ground.
“Most of the members in the ballroom were killed, including all of the current serving board members. The FBI already has warrants to search all of their businesses and properties and permission to seize their assets.”
“If there is anything left of them after this,” Howie adds. “It will be a drastically altered organization.”
“Is Lincoln all right?” I ask, because I’ve been worrying about him too.
Diesel’s face pales. “He’s in surgery in a Greek hospital. Randall’s men left him for dead when they grabbed Giana and brought her back to the US.”
“I’m so sorry.” I grab his hands. “I’ll organize a private jet to take you there. I know the company Dad always used.”
“I’ll make it happen,” Theo says, his fingers already flying across the keyboard.
Diesel gulps. “That would be appreciated. Thanks, Lo.”
A nurse pokes her head through the door, smiling at me. “Mr. Westbrook is in his room now, and he’s asking for you.”
My lips curve in amusement at her faux pas, but I don’t correct her. “Thank you.” I stand. “We’ll be right there.” I lean down, kissing Diesel on the cheek. “Keep me updated on Lincoln, and please send him my regards. I hate that he got caught up in this. If there is anything else I can do, just ask.”
Diesel stands, kissing my cheek. “Stay safe.”
“We’re going to head out.” Bry rises with his brother. “I doubt his lordship wants to see us.”
If it was just Bry, I’d insist he stays, but I’m guessing Bry is leaving because Howie is here. Bry knows, as well as I do, that Saint would not want to see his older uncle. “I’ll text you updates,” I promise, waving them off.
We leave the waiting room together, the four of us going in one direction and the three of them in another.
I open the door to Saint’s private room with my heart thumping loudly in my chest. I know he’s okay, that he’ll make a full recovery, but I’m still anxious as I slip into his room. Lighting is dim, and the blinds are closed. The steady beep, beep of a machine and Saint’s heavy breathing are the only sounds in the room. We tiptoe across the tile floor, careful not to wake our Sleeping Beauty. Saintly may have been asking for us, but he’s sound asleep now, so we take seats around his bed, waiting for him to come around.
Fingers curl around my hand, and I jolt awake, springing up, my gaze darting around the strange room until I get my bearings. Caz is snoring in the chair beside me. Theo is asleep, draped over his tablet at the end of the bed, and Galen’s chair is empty. I’m guessing he’s with Alisha. My gaze drifts to the man in the bed, the guy threading his fingers in mine, and my pulse races when I lock eyes on Saint’s tired, bright blue ones. “You’re awake,” I blurt, stating the obvious.
“It would appear so.” His voice is hoarse, and I grab the cup of ice chips by his bed, tipping a few into his mouth.