Page 29 of Roxanne

My father is breathing heavily, and when he hears my quiet plea, he whips his head around to look down at me and Storm.

“Fuck,” he says as he drops to his knees beside us. My brother takes one last kick at Eli's head and his brain matter splatters over the floor. When Will spits on him, I have to look away. The sight is gruesome and repulsive, and it's something I will never forget.

“William, get over here and help me. Storm, can you hear me?” Papa shouts, as he slaps Storm’s cheek, his knuckles red from punching Eli. Storm blinks, mumbling, but doesn’t keep his eyes open.

My father pulls out his phone and sends a message to someone, but I’m not sure who. Time seems to move weirdly. All around me, things are happening. My father and William are moving, they're talking to Storm. They're trying to get him to respond. But Storm just lies still.

I watch him. I keep my eyes on him. I can't look away. At some point, a doctor shows up and starts helping Storm.

He came fully supplied, ready to practically perform surgery in the middle of my fucking living room. A few more of my father's men show up and start disposing of my uncle's beaten body.

I hear one of them say they found the bodies of their men stashed in a supply closet down the hall. He killed four people before he came in here.

It's like he lost his fucking mind between managing to sneak into this building and kill four people, and then coming up here to this room. Attempting to kill me and my family. Desperate men do desperate things.

“Come on, Roxy, we need to get you in the shower,” William eventually says, attempting to help me up off the floor.

I never left Storm’s side. I just sit there and stare.

I'm sure Papa has thoughts about that, But I don't really care. Storm saved my life when he dove in front of that bullet, he deserves to live. He deserves to be mine. I deserve to be his.

“I love him…” I say. William nods.

“I know, little sister. Come on Rocks. Let me help you to the bathroom.” William turns on the water and grabs me a towel. And then shuts the door, leaving me alone.

Somehow on autopilot, I manage to strip my clothes off. And then step into the shower. I let the hot water wash over my body, I'm not sure how long I stand there but eventually, the water runs cold. I grab the soap and scrub the remaining blood off as best I can. I dry off and get dressed on autopilot, and then leave the bathroom in search of Storm.

He's lying in my bed now with an IV connected to him and a couple of monitors that the doctor brought with him.

I guess when you have as much money as my father does you can hire anyone to do anything, including perform life-saving surgery in the middle of an apartment.

“How long before he wakes up?” I ask, as I approach. I climb into the bed and wrap myself around him. Careful to avoid the bandage where the bullet hole is. He was shot in the shoulder and the bullet went clean through.

He lost a lot of blood. Looking at the place where both Eli and Storm were bleeding, I can see it's been cleaned up. Papa's men work fast.

“It could be a few hours, or it could be a few days, depending on how his body responds,” William answers.

Papa is standing in the corner of my apartment, surveying every square inch. The look on his face is serious and still slightly violent.

It's then that I realize both Papa and William have cleaned up.

Neither one of them has a speck of blood on them. They've changed Storm out of his clothes as well. His bloodied shirt is gone, and he’s in clean gray sweatpants.

“A few days?” I ask and William nods. My brother isn't one to show a lot of emotion but I can tell that he is upset. Maybe even worried.

I've heard stories about the trouble that those two get into together, maybe he's scared. He'll lose his partner in literal crime. Papa has been grooming my brother to take over one day. Just as William is Papa's number one guy, Storm will be my brother’s.

“You love him?” Papa asks, and I look over at him with tears in my eyes.

“I do,” I say softly, turning back to Storm.

“About damn time,” Papa says. “I believe that boy's been in love with you since the day he met you.”

My mind drifts to the day that I met Storm, and I smile sadly.

We were only eight and nine, and I had found him sitting under a tree in the park. He was crying, tears streaming down his face, and I think that might have been the only time I've ever seen Storm cry.

He was holding his arm close to his chest and looked like a scared little bird. A scared, broken bird.

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