Page 72 of They Will Burn

He shakes his head. “I can do it.”

I don’t argue the point, because I don’t want to call Michael De Marco any more than he does, but we have to. Without a second in charge in place, we need to let him know that Camilla is in the hospital, and at the same time, we may be able to tell if he’s responsible for this whole mess.

He places the phone on speaker, and we wait to see if he’s going to accept the call. Even Kaos has lifted his head and has his eyes locked on the phone.

“Bishop, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Michael answers. There’s an air of smugness in his tone that immediately gets under my skin.

“I wanted to let you know your niece is in the hospital,” Bishop tells him evenly. “She was ambushed this morning when going to meet with Trevor, the guy that runs the docks. I’m sure you know more about him than I do.”

“I’m afraid not, but I am sorry to hear Camilla is hurt. Is she going to be okay? What hospital are you at? Scott and I will stop by to see her.”

Bishop meets my eyes and nods slowly. He did it. You don’t deal with fuckers like this for as many years as we have and not know when someone isn’t genuine with their concern. We deal with motherfuckers who want nothing more than to see the rest of the world burn so long as they get what they want, and there’s not an ounce of genuine worry in his tone.

“No need. We just wanted to let you know out of courtesy.”

He’s silent for a second, and I’d put money on him trying to think of a reason he should be here, but he’s not going to find one. It’s well known that Camilla isn’t close to them, and although there are only so many hospitals in the city, there’s no record of her or Crew here. Bishop made sure of it before we even arrived.

“I have to get going. I’ll let you know if there’s anything you need to know.”

Bishop hangs up and immediately meets my gaze. “That motherfucker.”

“I’m going to kill him,” I growl, and I mean it. The death I have cooking up for him is going to make him wish he was never fucking born, and that pipsqueak Scott will meet an equally violent end.

Because I know what it’s like to have family members who hurt you. I lived through years of abuse and have the scars to show for it, and even if Camilla can take care of herself, this is something I want to do for her. I want to give her their heads on a fucking platter for the part they’ve played in her pain, and then she’ll be free the same way I am to be a part of a family that would never hurt her.

A doctor clears their throat in the doorway, and when we each turn our attention to the middle-aged man, he visibly cowers. “I…uh…I have an update about Miss De Marco.”

I step forward, desperate to hear how my little lamb is doing, only for him to take a step back with wide eyes. If he doesn’t tell me if Camilla’s okay soon, I’m going to give him a reason to be scared.

Bishop rests a hand on my shoulder to hold me in place at the same time Kaos comes to stand on my other side, and I realize all three of us are holding our breath.

“She’s stable. She has a concussion, which we will monitor overnight, as well as a few nasty bruises, but she got lucky.”

“And my dad?” Bishop asks.

“He’s in surgery still. As far as I know, it’s been touch and go, but they’re optimistic he’s going to pull through.” Or more likely they’re doing everything they can because they’re afraid of the consequences of allowing someone like Crew to die on their operating table.

“Can we see her?” Kaos asks, and when the doctor nods, some of the tension that’s coiled tight in my shoulders releases. I’ll see her first, and then I’ll start making plans for how to deal with her family.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

CAMILLA

There’s a thumping in the back of my head that has nausea rolling over me as I try to place where I am and what happened leading up to this moment.

A steady beep, beep, beep fills the space around me, but it only serves to make my headache worse. Perhaps I’m in some kind of torture chamber, that’s the only place a sound like this belongs.

Slowly, images filter through my mind. Men in masks. A gun in my hand. Blood. So much blood. Crew’s ashen face.

My eyes pop open at that thought. Where is he? I need to make sure he’s okay. I need to make sure I’m not responsible for someone else I love dying.

As my eyes focus, I realize I’m in a hospital room, which, in my opinion, is as close to a torture chamber as I ever want to get. I have so many bad memories from rooms just like this one that my stomach sinks, and I swallow heavily past the tears that threaten to fall. I said goodbye to my mother in a room just like this one. What if I’m about to have the same experience with Crew?

I force the thought to the back of my mind. If I allow myself to fall down that rabbit hole, I might never dig myself out of it.

As slowly as I can manage, I turn my head to the side and cringe as pain shoots through my temple and another wave of nausea crashes down on me. I swallow past the bile that climbs into my throat and pause when I realize there’s someone sitting in the chair in the corner.

But it’s not one of my men.

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