Page 165 of The Fractured

Dad pressed his lips together. “I do… The entire investigation has been shot to pieces.”

The realization that I might not ever see Antonio again struck me harder than I thought it would.

“Someone tipped him off,” Dean added.

The paramedic finished wrapping his hand and began strapping it across his chest to keep it elevated. Dean’s eyes remained on Dad, who had paused to process what he was saying. He looked like he was reevaluating who on his team he could trust.

Dad didn’t share these concerns out loud. Instead, he inhaled and put his arm around me.

“You two should get to the hospital. I will feel a lot better once I know you’re both as far away from this place as possible. Andheneeds to have that looked at properly.” He pointed at Dean’s hand.

Dean gave him a lazy, two-fingered salute with his other hand. “Yes, sarge.”

With Dean taking the stretcher, under strict instruction by the paramedic in case he felt dizzy from the blood loss, I sat in the spare seat beside him in the back of the ambulance.

I allowed myself to relax in the seat. My body was tired and ached all over, but I was alive.

Dean reached across and squeezed my knee gently to get my attention, half smiling.

We were alive.

Chapter 57

Dean

For the first time in fuck knows how long, being in the hospital didn’t bother me. I still hated the place but with the amount of blood I lost, and with how much shit we went through, I was happy laying in a hospital bed for a night, processing and recovering.

In a fresh change of clothes, thanks to Kira and Seb visiting earlier, and finally free of the blood and debris of the basement, we shared the bed. Lily was asleep, tucked against my side under my arm and bandaged hand, with her head on my shoulder.

I never wanted to let her go again.

At least for the next twenty-four hours.

Three hours ago, Lily had given her statement to the police while I got my hand sewn back together and checked for nerve damage — my middle finger was the only one I couldn’t feel. While I was getting stitches in the emergency room, chaos exploded as paramedic after paramedic wheeled several stretchers in.

Survivors of the shooting — police and criminals.

No sign of Antonio. Or Vince.

It was way past midnight, officially Saturday morning. And a whole week since Mom’s death. It was a bitter pill to swallow, accepting how fast the week had gone without her.

I waited for the tears; the lump in my throat, but there was nothing. Maybe my emotions were worn out. My life had been blown apart, and I was too exhausted to think. I guess that’s why, two hours ago, when Mark arrived with news that there were no more survivors from the shooting, I just stared blankly.

Antonio’s body was found where I left him and Vince. They were men I had shared most of my early adult life with, making it hell but also providing me a fucked up form of job stability, and I felt…indifferent by their passing. There was no love lost there, but there was a loss of something.

Lily stirred with a small stretch. Her eyelashes fluttered open, and those pretty blue eyes sleepily took in the room. She seemed to remember where we were before she sighed and closed her eyes again.

“You okay?” I mumbled.

She smiled softly and nodded, keeping her eyes closed. “Iam. You’re the one who was stabbed.”

I huffed a laugh. “Fair enough.”

“My therapist will hear all about it, though.” She snuggled against my chest, placing a hand on my stomach.

“I thought he was a psychologist?”

“Tomato, tomato.”