Chapter 28

Lisa

I've never known an emptiness like this before, a burning void that pulses with raw pain. When I lost Ruby and my parents, there had been rage and grief, but not this.

Not this awful emptiness mixed with the strongest bloodlust I've ever known.

Jennie is still and silent as I carry her up the stairs to our bedroom. Her eyes are closed, her lashes forming dark crescents on her colorless cheeks. She's been like that—all but catatonic from blood loss and exhaustion—since we left the hospital.

As I lay her on the bed, I catch sight of her bruised cheekbone and split lip, and have to turn away to regain control. The violence seething within me feels so toxic, so corrosive, that I can't touch Jennie right now—not without it marking her in some way.

After a few moments, I feel calm enough to face the bed. Jennie hasn't moved, still lying where I placed her, and I realize she's fallen asleep. Inhaling slowly, I bend over her and begin to undress her. I could let her sleep until morning, but there are traces of dried blood on her clothes, and I don't want her to wake up like that.

She'll have enough to deal with in the morning.

When she's naked, I take off my own clothes and scoop her up, cradling her small, limp body against my chest as I walk to the bathroom. Entering the shower stall, I turn on the water, still holding her tightly.

She wakes up when the warm spray hits her skin, her eyes flying open as she convulsively clutches at my biceps. "Lisa?" She sounds alarmed.

"Shh," I soothe. "It's okay. We're home." She looks a bit calmer, so I place her on her feet and ask softly, "Can you stand on your own for a minute, baby?"

She nods, and I make quick work of washing her and then myself. By the time I'm done, she's swaying on her feet, and I see that it's taking all her strength to remain upright. Swiftly, I bundle her into a large towel and carry her back to bed.

She passes out before her head touches the pillow. I tuck a blanket around her and sit next to her for a few moments, watching her chest rise and fall with her breathing.

Then I get up and get dressed to go downstairs.

Entering the living room, I see that Bambam is already waiting for me.

"Where's Rosé?" I ask, keeping my voice level. Later I will think about our child, about Jennie lying there so hurt and vulnerable, but for now I push it all out of my mind. I can't afford to give in to my grief and fury, not when there is so much to be done.

"She's asleep," Bambam responds, rising from the couch. "I gave her Ambien and made sure she took a shower."

"Good. Thank you." I cross the room to stand next to him. "Now tell me everything."

"The clean-up crew took care of the body and captured the kid Jennie knocked out in the hallway. They're holding him in a warehouse I rented on the South Side."

"Good." My chest fills with savage anticipation. "What about the white car?"

"The men were able to follow it to one of the residential high-rises downtown. At that point, it disappeared into a parking garage, and they decided against pursuing it there. I've already run the license plate number."

He pauses at that point, prompting me to say impatiently, "And?"

"And it seems like we might have a problem," Bambam says grimly. "Does the name Patrick Sullivan mean anything to you?"

I frown, trying to think where I've heard it before. "It's familiar, but I can't place it."

"The Sullivans own half of this town. Prostitution, drugs, weapons—you name it, they have their fingers in it. Patrick Sullivan heads up the family, and he's got just about every local politician and police chief in his pocket."

"Ah." It makes sense now. I haven't had dealings with the Sullivan organization, but I'd made it my business to know potential clients in the US and elsewhere. Sullivan's name must've come up in my research—which means we might indeed have a problem. "What does Patrick Sullivan have to do with this?"

"He has two sons," Bambam says. "Or rather, he had two sons. Brian and Sean. Brian is currently marinating in lye at our rented warehouse, and Sean is the owner of the white SUV."

"I see." So the fuckers who attacked Rosé and my wife are connected. More than connected, in fact—which explains their idiotic arrogance in assaulting two women at a public club. With their daddy running this town, they must be used to being the biggest sharks in the pool.

"Also," Bambam continues, "the kid we've got strung up in that warehouse is their seventeen-year-old cousin, Sullivan's nephew. His name is Jimmy. Apparently, he and the two brothers are close. Or were close, I should say."

My eyes narrow in sudden suspicion. "Do they have any idea who we are? Could they have singled out Rosé to get at me?"

"No, I don't think so." Bambam's face tightens. "The Sullivan brothers have a nasty history with women. Date-rape drugs, sexual assault, gang bangs of sorority girls—the list goes on and on. If it weren't for their father, they'd be rotting in prison right now."

"I see." My mouth twists. "Well, by the time we're done with them, they'll wish they were."

Bambam nods grimly. "Should I organize a strike team?"

"No," I say. "Not yet." I turn and walk over to stand by the window, gazing out into the dark, tree-lined yard. It's four in the morning, and the only light visible through the trees comes from the half-moon hanging in the sky.

This community is a quiet, peaceful place, but it won't stay that way for long. Once Sullivan figures out who killed his sons and nephew, these neat, landscaped streets will run red with blood.

"I want Jennie and her parents taken to the estate before we do anything," I say, turning back to face Bambam. "Sean Sullivan will have to wait. For now, we'll focus on the nephew."

"All right." Bambam inclines his head. "I'll begin making the arrangements."

He walks out of the room, and I turn to look out the window again.

Despite the half-moon, all I see out there is the darkness.