Page 67 of Wildest Dreams

I'll never forget the way Harlow's parents fell to their knees when Jorge told them that their daughter wasn’t coming home.

I’ll never forget the way the Rivera family were ripped limb from limb.

I’ll never forget.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DIXIE

Isit next to the crackling fire. I didn't want to leave the hospital, but Jorge basically dragged me away from Tripp’s bedside as he was taken down to surgery. Not even sure why the fire is on, it's not particularly cold outside yet I can't stop shivering. A blanket is thrown around my shoulders and my fingers are wrapped around a hot cup of tea.

I think it's the shock.

The shock of what happened earlier in the day. And even though everything happened only a few hours ago, it feels like a lifetime has passed.

Orla is beside herself, muttering the Lord’s prayer under her breath repeatedly.

I watch her pacing. Up and down, back and forth. Jorge is standing at the window, as if waiting for something to happen. He is on guard. Constantly.

Riggs told us he would keep us updated, but I couldn't just sit here. I needed to know that he was okay. I wanted to be there when he woke.

“Jorge,” I say softly, placing my cup on the side table next to me. He turns to look at me, eyes hollow, soul tired and facelifeless. “I want to be there when Tripp wakes up...” I stand slowly, shrugging the blanket off my shoulders.

“Dixie...” he tilts his head, and I don't miss the worry that wraps around his hoarse voice.

“Jorge,” Orla steps towards her husband and places a hand on his chest where his heart sits. “Let her go, let her be by his side.”

“I'll take Lainey...” I glance over at my beautiful daughter who is sitting on her play mat stacking blocks.

“No, leave her here with me,” Orla smiles, “I could use the company.”

“Why don't you come with me?” I step towards her, but she shakes her head, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I can't, no, I'll stay home,” she whispers as she picks up her pacing again.

I sigh, turning my attention to Lainey, blissfully unaware at what this cruel world has taken from us all today.

“Come,” Jorge says softly and I walk over to my daughter, placing a kiss on the top of her head before scooping up my bag and following Jorge out to the truck, but now without our entourage of cowboys that ride in front and behind as we make our way down towards the hospital.

Jorge has his shotgun down the side of his door, eyes focused on the road ahead and I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.

What if they come back?

I shut the thoughts down instantly, I couldn't think like that.

They got what they wanted.

An eye for an eye.

Austin supposedly took Clay's life, so they took Harlow's.

Bile rises up my throat and the flashbacks replay over and over in my head. The way Tripp went down, the way Pacey fell to the floor and the way Harlow's lifeless eyes were on Austin, a tear running down her cheek as she took her last breath.

Choking out a sob, I drop my head into my hands.

I hear Jorge sigh before I feel a soft pat on my knee as I let the tears flow.

I cried for the duration of the journey.

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