Team Girl.
Hugging it to my chest, I turn to Nico.
“I have to find him.”
“That’s why I woke you,” he says, regretfully. “I just saw the district attorney go into the I.C.U. with a bunch of cops. My guess—”
“Shit! Why didn’t you say that sooner?” I snap, bolting out of my seat. The teddy bear falls from my lap as I start for the double doors.
“Lace, wait!”
I press the button to unlock the doors and glance over my shoulder, watching as Nico picks up the teddy bear. The buzzer sounds and the doors open. Without giving him another glance, I rush down the corridor. My feet come to a skidding halt behind the army of cops surrounding my father and Blackie. Pushing through them, I stand between Ritzer and my father. Squaring my shoulders, I hold my head high and look right at the district attorney.
“You’re not taking my father in,” I shout.
I know I look and sound ridiculous, that there is nothing I can really do to stop him from taking my father away, but I was raised not to give up. We Parrish folk, we fight until we draw our last breath.
“Lace,” Blackie rasps as he steps behind me. Leaning against him, I struggle not to cry as he rubs his hands gently down my arms. My vision clouds with tears and before I realize it, Blackie has me in his arms and is guiding me away from the D.A.
Turning to face him, I brace a hand against his chest as the tears slip from the corners of my eyes.
“Blackie, do something,” I plead.
“It’s going to be okay, girl,” he whispers, thumbing my tears away.
“Dominic Petra,” Ritzer calls. My gaze flits to the man standing behind my husband, calling his name. There’s something about the way he stares back at me that makes my stomach drop. Fear engulfs me as he takes another step closer and I slice my eyes back to Blackie. His hand lowers from my face and flattens against my flat stomach. Without looking me in the eye, he mumbles something I can’t quite make out, and it takes everything in me to find my voice.
“Blackie, what’s going on?” I whisper frantically.
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at me.
“Black,” my father growls. “Stand down!”
“Dominic Petra, you are under arrest,” Ritzer says, rattling off a list of charges.
My eyes widen as one of the cops roughly drags his hand away from my stomach.
“This isn’t happening,” I whisper, watching as they pull his hands behind him and slap cuffs around his wrists. Closing my eyes, I cross my arms and pinch my skin, wishing to wake up from the nightmare, but all I manage to do is inflict physical pain. When I open my eyes, I stare at my husband.
“It’s okay, Lace,” he whispers.
Anything he says after that, I don’t hear.
I fight.
I cry.
I beg and plead but no one listens.
No one cares.
Not law enforcement.
Not my father.
And definitely not the man breaking my heart.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Lacey
Being the daughter of the notorious Jack Parrish, and the wife of the equally infamous, Dominic “Blackie” Petra, one would think I’ve spent a great deal of time as a bystander in a criminal courtroom. That I’ve got the whole arraignment process down to a science, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Before today, I never stepped foot inside this place, and I hope to never again.
It’s like a revolving door of fuck ups. In the three hours I’ve been here, I’ve seen two drug dealers, a porch picker—yes, I actually witnessed a man plead guilty to robbing Amazon packages off people’s stoops—two burglars, and, let me not forget the thug charged with the battery of an elderly woman.
All winners. Not.
Yet, none of them were being charged with a laundry list of crimes like my husband. One count of murder somehow became two and on top of the possession of an illegal firearm and the intent to sell, he was also being charged with the disappearance of a paramedic. I guess I should have had a reaction to the added charges, but I’m all out of tears and I’m sure my bitter heart doesn’t give a damn anymore.
After Blackie was arrested, I tried to make sense of everything. How he was there one minute and in cuffs the next. I begged my father to clue me in on the master plan I was sure he and my husband had concocted, but he didn’t budge. In fact, I’m starting to believe he really doesn’t have any idea what Blackie was thinking when he retained David Schwartz as his attorney and dropped that pink teddy bear in my lap. If that’s not a slap in the face, I don’t know what is. It’s like the plush toy is some sort of consolation prize for leaving me pregnant and alone in the dark. For choosing his loyalty to his club over his promises to me.
For feeding me lies and selling me a dream.
“How you holding up, sweetheart?” Wolf questions from beside me as he cups my shoulder affectionately. The sound of his voice drags me away from my thoughts, but I don’t look at him. There’s no point. When you see one brother look at you with pity, you’ve seen them all.
“How do you think she’s holding up?” Riggs whisper yells over my head. “Her baby daddy is in the slammer and let’s call a spade a spade, they’re probably going to throw the book at him. So, instead of asking her how she’s doing, go on Teespring and buy one of the Free Blackie t-shirts. Diapers aren’t cheap, man. If you’re feeling generous, buy a sweatshirt too.”
“Ignore him, hon, he knows not what he says,” Wolf hisses.
“I know kids are fucking expensive, man. I also know Schwartz isn’t cheap and probably depleted Blackie’s bank account…”
That grabs my attention and my gaze snaps to Riggs. While all his concerns are surely valid, I haven’t allowed myself to think about any of them. I don’t want to hear about the cost of diapers or that children come with unexpected expenses and I sure as hell don’t want to hear my husband dropped every cent we have on a fucking attorney. Even if he’s worth every red cent.
I want to hang onto hope.
It might make me the fool in this story, but I want to believe my husband has a trick up his sleeve. Some grand gesture that makes him the hero and not the villain who breaks my heart. That he’s invested all our money into a defense that’s sure to get him off and give us a future together. I want to believe he’s not a selfish prick, that he didn’t choose his love for the patch over his love for his child. That he didn’t shove me into the role of a struggling single mother.
The voice of my maker sounds inside my head, taking advantage of my emotional state and wreaks havoc on my fragile heart.
You always want too much.
You’ve set the bar too high for a man who will never climb it.
He made his choice.
It wasn’t you.
It’s never you.
“Lacey?” Riggs calls softly. I know he’s right next to me, but his voice seems so far away. So out of reach. Closing my eyes, I drop my head into my hands and rub my temples.
“See, what you’ve done,” Wolf growls.
Another muffled voice.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, more to myself than them. Being off my meds hasn’t been easy with everything that’s going on. Another factor my husband didn’t bother to consider when he broke my heart.