“Why?” Chase asks. “If he’s going to get what he wants with that fucking arrangement anyway.”
“I honestly don’t know. Get on the phone and have Mason and Elias pull up anything and everything about that fucking crew that we don’t already have. Members. Families of members,” he tells Rory. “Where the hell is Cristian now?”
“I don’t know but he’s been trying to call me,” Chase replies.
“I’ll take care of him then. But for now, no one knows how bad Derrick is hurt,” he orders.
It’s been over an hour of waiting when the door swings open and Heinz walks out. The doctor walks right up to him with an encouraging nod.
“Thankfully we brought enough blood,” Heinz says. “That was close. Too close.”
“Oh, thank fuck!” Rory wails, hands in his hair in relief.
“He’ll need some recovery time for the blood loss. Also, there is a possibility of some nerve damage. Won’t know for sure for some time. I’ll put you in touch with a physical therapist if he needs one,” Heinz bluntly informs everyone before heading back inside. “Give us a second more,” the doctor says before closing the door behind him.
Heels clicking on pavement scratches on his raw nerves. He’d know the sound of those heels anywhere.
“Stell,” he whispers. “Shit,” he says under another breath, looking from Rory to Chase before turning to face her.
He can see her silhouette moving toward them in the dark of the warehouse. He can hear the steady pace of her heels clicking on the cement, approaching them.
When she steps into the light, she’s dressed in black. Perfect from head to toe. Not disheveled and not looking like she’d just climbed out of bed in a rush of worries for her husband either.
No. Stella’s pissed the fuck off. Her stone-cold face says as much.
“Brought a party?” Rory asks her with a jut of the chin.
Within seconds he sees her merce-nannies, James and Jason, walking behind her. They’re not alone. A few more of Kings’ men follow, shoving three bound guys in front of them.
“How is he?” Stella asks when she reaches them, her voice cold as a Nor’easter.
“We were going to tell you,” he replies. “He’s going to be okay.”
“You were going to tell me but Cristian Romano beat you to it,” she retorts. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t know where Derrick is. I found that out on my own.”
He nods at her and then eyes the men now sitting on their knees with the merce-nannies standing guard. He sees the leather vests that the men are all wearing and catches on. Chase and Rory must have too because they walk forward with him.
“Can I see him now?” Stella asks without so much as a glance at who’s behind her.
“No one’s going to stop you,” he replies.
Because right now, now that Derrick is going to be okay, there are things to be done. Information to obtain. Blood to be shed.
Chapter Eighteen
Shoving the shower curtains aside, she steps out of the tub and into the steam-filled bathroom. She faces the mirror and swipes her hand across it. It’s getting easier and easier each day to face herself. Not just look at her reflection but truly face herself and face everything that she’s had to do and endure until she’s reached this point. Since the first time she was given drugs to numb everything, this has been her longest period of sobriety.
Sobriety. The word feels heavy yet liberating at the same time.
Sobriety was not a right for her before. It’s an opportunity now…a chance…and also a responsibility. It’s a weight that she’ll have to carry for the rest of her life. Though her mind is prepared to carry that weight, it’s her physical body that she’s worried about.
Today was a reminder of that physical need.
She’d craved. She’d craved until it became unbearable.
She’d tried to hold the craving in, she tried to fight the craving on her own, in her head. There will never be enough words to thank Marcus for doing his job and for being a friend, not allowing her to feel the shame of what she was willing to do for something, for anything to ease the craving.
Even as she was unable to look at his face, too ashamed to face him for blurting out the words of what she’d exchange for a hit of anything, he remained steadfast in his commitment to helping her. He never faltered as she had.
Instead, they went through the most physical workout of her life. From yoga to Pilates to running to weight lifting, they’d done it all until her body couldn’t handle anymore. Until the cravings disappeared. Until the only trembling left is the trembling of her limbs from overworked muscles. Until there was nothing left but her gratitude.
“Go shower,” Marcus had told her when she was finally able to catch her breath again. “You stink,” he jokes.
She cracked at that moment and everything inside was set free. Everything was let go and all that remained were two people…two friends laughing hysterically.
Her index finger mindlessly traces the reflection of the smile on the mirror. Her hand trembled slightly and she shakes the hand to try to get rid of the jitters before going about drying her hair to get ready for bed. It’s been a long day. With or without Adam, she was ready for sleep.
Adam King. She’s exchanged one addiction for another.
She’d experience her first true orgasm at the hands of this man. Her dark knight. That’s who he’s become whether he realizes it or not. He is the epitome of danger, living the mob life that she’s loathed and feared her whole adult life. Yet there’s a tenderness and patience within him that’s indescribable. The way he vibrates of positivity when he speaks of his child is admirable and touches her down to her very soul. All of this is part of his allure, it’s all part of his charm.
He’s spent half the week with her this week. Each night, her overwrought nerves ease more and more with each passing minute in his presence. Like too many of the men that she’s come across, he has the power to take and take from her with or without her consent. But there’s only one Adam King and he has yet to exert that power. He didn’t even have to ask and she would give.
She steps out of the bathroom and comes to a dead halt at the doorway when she sees a man sitting in the wingbacked armchair in the corner of the room. He’s hidden in the shadow of the darkness. Her breath hitches because whoever this man is, he is not Adam.
Unable to move or run, she’s frozen in place.
The man moves, tossing something onto the foot of the bed. She stares at the stack of drawings that lie there. Her drawings.
“They’re good,” the man comments. “Autodidact?”
She didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t know if an answer is required. All that’s running through her mind is where is Marcus? Where is Adam? Has he done what she’s feared and passed her on…to be used?
“Are you self-taught?” the man asks before he stands up.
His hands smoothly slide into his pocket. Whether he did that to assure her that he was unarmed or if he’s now reaching for some sort of weapon, she can’t be sure. He steps out of the shadow and she’s astonished.
“Chase,” she calls out to the man.