Then I leaned back in my seat to wait.
I didn’t know why she was in there, but I had a feeling she was meeting with someone. I guessed her mother or father, or maybe her brother. Could’ve been Stuart, but I doubted it. Even if she decided she couldn’t stay with me after witnessing that hit, she wouldn’t go back to Stuart, at least. She fucking hated that guy.
And for good reason. He was a real dick.
But I was worried. I didn’t want to lose her to her family again. I didn’t think she’d go down that road, since she was basically a pretty piece of jewelry to sell off to the highest bidder, but her life would be more comfortable with the Adamson family.
Some part of me felt like I was depriving my child of a future. If I really wanted to be a good father, maybe I should step aside and tell her to go back home. That way my child could grow up with a real family, a rich and powerful family, and have the sort of opportunities I could only dream about.
I couldn’t give a baby what the Adamson family could. I had money and I had some sway on the streets, but my life would always be violence and uncertainty. My kid could have stability and real wealth and a real future.
Then again, Ash had all that, but she wanted to give it up. I could see it in her eyes every time we talked about her family. There was a deep, horrible unhappiness inside of her, and I think it was from growing up with those people. I could only guess at how being wealthy as hell would affect a person, like a drug or a disease. Being with those people, growing up in that house would warp a human into something unrecognizable.
Like Stuart, or like her father.
My phone buzzed. She’s out, Brett said.
I started my engine and looked over my shoulder.
A van came screaming around the corner. I frowned a little bit, head tilted, and my phone buzzed.
From Brett: SOS HEALY.
“Fuck,” I said, and threw the truck into gear. I heard a scream, then the van door slammed shut and it came barreling toward me.
I barely managed to get my truck out into traffic in time. The van smashed into me, knocking my truck sideways, but I got wedged up against a Mini Cooper. The van’s driver was screaming, and I crawled across the seat to kick open the passenger side door. I paused to pull a gun from the glove box before walking around the truck.
The driver didn’t have a chance. I put a bullet in his head before he realized what I was doing. I heard shouts from the back and muffled screams, like they’d shoved something in Ash’s mouth. Brett came limping toward me, eyes wide and wild, and I waved him off as I grabbed the back door and yanked it open.
Gunfire burst out. I stood off to the side, away from the opening. When it paused, I aimed inside and was about to shoot—
But hesitated. Ash was in there, and I might hit her.
More gunfire. I had to pull back, cursing. Brett shouted something and took cover behind a silver sedan. One of the guys in the van tried to get out, and I smashed the door against him, knocking him sideways. I put two bullets in his chest as two more guys leapt out and came at me.
I had to scatter. Bullets slammed into the ground all around me as I dove over the hood of a black Subaru and landed hard on the sidewalk on the other side. I came up shooting, but missed as they took cover.
Then more gunfire erupted and a scream. Brett was crouched on the far side of the van, and one of the shooters was dead. He beamed, excitement pained on his face—
“Brett!” I screamed as I aimed the gun at the other shooter.
Too late. The Healy guy fired, and Brett went down. I pulled the trigger and the Healy guy dropped under my bullets. I came out from behind the Subaru, made sure the guys were dead, then checked the van.
It was empty, except for Ash. I’d recognize those legs anywhere. Her wrists were tied and there was a bag over her head. I climbed in, took off the bag, and unbound her wrists.
“Gian,” she whispered.
“Come on,” I said, tugging her. “Brett’s hit.”
She followed me out. I ran over and found Brett propped up against the wheel of the sedan, hand over his chest, trying to stop the bleeding. He gasped for breath, his eyes wide with terror.
“You’ll be okay,” I said, kneeling next to him.
Ash stared down at me, face pale.
“Gian,” Brett said. “I got him for you.”
“Don’t talk.” I looked around, trying to figure out what to do. I couldn’t call the cops or an ambulance. I had to get Brett into my truck and drive him to the hospital— but no, the truck was pinned, I could use the van, back it out—