Face bruised, eyes dark underneath, skin paler than usual, he looks younger.
He’s wearing a neck brace.
Talking helps.
Does it fuck. What do I even say? It’s not like he can hear me.
So I sit and do fuck all, pick at the wool thread on my scarf, count the tiles on the wall, while the machines tell me that he’s still alive and there’s a reason for me to stay.
I should go.
I’m out of the chair immediately, as soon as that thought enters my head, but then I sit down again. I just got here. I should at least fucking try.
“I’m going to kill him,” I say out loud.
Lorcan doesn’t answer. I didn’t expect him to.
But as soon as the words leave my mouth, I know it’s true. I’m going to kill the person who did this and I’m going to fucking enjoy it.
I leave before Saskia and Dino can trap me into staying longer. I don’t even bother looking for Jude, although joining him and getting wasted sounds like a great way to drown out all the fucking sorrow.
I’m done with this bullshit. I need to do something other than sit and stare at a would-be corpse. I know he’s not dead, but he may as well be.
As soon as I’m outside, I call Dante.
“V, I was just thinking about you,” he says as he picks up. “I’m so glad we can talk the way we used to.”
“Are you done?”
“Far from it.”
“Shoddy work that last one. You left him alive.”
“What are you talking about?”
His response stalls me but not for long. “I’m talking about Lorcan. You fucked up. He’s still alive. But you won’t be when I find you. I’m going to carve his fucking name onto your heart while you’re still breathing, making you watch.”
He laughs. “Oh, that’s my girl! Fuck, I’ve missed you. Seriously, though it wasn’t me.”
“Are you playing, or telling the truth?”
“I wish I could take the credit for whatever happened to Bright Eyes, but frankly I didn’t touch a hair on his pretty head. Ask Quinn.”
I take that revelation, ingest it, and then hang up.
I text Quinn asking her for a snapshot of the traffic cameras on the road Lorcan’s car was found on between 6 a.m. and 6:30 a.m. in the morning, and then call a cab to take me home. By the time I’m showered and dressed, Quinn has sent me the video footage. I eat a bland breakfast, and skim through until I find what I’m looking for—the Bugatti just before it wraps itself around a tree. I zoom in and watch the replay. The car chasing Lorcan through the twisting lanes has no number plate, but I’ve seen it before. The colors are muted because it’s black and white, but the details and the decals are the same.
There. You bastard.
I pause the camera to confirm it.
It’s a Lancer, and it belongs to Razor.
The Aston Martin’skeys were just sitting on the hospital table, so I took them. Jude will be too pissed to drive, and I doubt Saskia will want to leave her brother’s bedside any time soon.
I end up driving to the same place where Dino took me illegal street racing. As I enter the industrial estate parking lot, I haul on the handbrake, stopping the car in front of Razor and his guys.
“Razor,” I say through the open passenger window.