Page 35 of Myla: The Hawthornes

Seconds later, Ronan was dragging our sister off the back of my bike while I held it steady. Aisling knew how to scrap, but she was no match for Ronan, and he got away from the bike in seconds. When I climbed off and looked at them, she was standing perfectly still in his arms, and his pale face was stark against her tangled hair.

“Richie’s the same, but cops are upstairs,” Ronan told me. “I came down to get some space.”

“Richie’s alive?” Aisling asked, her legs going out from under her.

“For now,” Ronan replied slowly. “Not sure which way it’s gonna go.”

“How?” Aisling asked in confusion.

“Someone called 9-1-1 in time, I guess.”

I couldn’t focus on Richie yet. I needed to take care of a few things first. Keeping my steps even and steady, I went over to my saddlebags, pulled out the towel, brought it to the garbage can a few parking spaces away, and reached in to stuff it inside a fast-food bag. When I turned back toward my siblings, Ronan’s eyes were wide.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I’ll explain later,” I said, going back to my saddlebags. I put my knife carefully inside a sock before pushing it to the bottom of the bag. “Come on, Aisling needs to see a doctor.”

“No, I don’t,” she rasped.

“Yeah, you do,” Ronan argued.

“Aisling, I love you, honey. And I wanna coddle you.” I leaned down to look her in the eye. “But after the shitIjust did, you not lettin’ me call the cops, Richie touch and go, and our sisters worried out of their goddamn minds about you—I just haven’t got it in me. You’ll go inside and get checked out if I have to carry your ass.”

“Fine,” she said quietly.

My arms felt like giant weights dragging me down as we went inside the hospital, and I found a bathroom to clean up while Ronan got Aisling checked in. My cut was speckled with blood, and my hoodie was a fucking mess, so I tossed the hoodie and wiped down the leather as best as I could.

I’d just finished scrubbing my hands and cleaning under my fingernails when my phone rang.

“Hey,” I answered, gingerly putting the phone to my shoulder.

“The fuck is goin’ on, man?” Bas asked. “Yesterday we thought you were at Myla’s until Dragon mentioned you’d headed home, and now Brody’s sayin’ you had him run a name of some asshole?”

“It’s a clusterfuck,” I replied, leaning my ass against the counter as I finished drying my hands. “Got a call that Richie’d been shot—”

“What the hell?” Bas murmured. “Is he okay?”

“Not lookin’ good,” I ground out.

“Fuck,” Bas said so quietly, I barely heard him.

“Aisling was missin’.”

“Was?”

“Found her about an hour ago.”

“She okay?”

“Not good,” I murmured, thinking of the careful way Aisling moved her body and the condition of her face. “At the hospital now.”

“Where was she?”

“Holed up in some McMansion with a fuckin’ psycho.”

“You need cleanup?” Bas asked calmly.

“Motherfucker was alive when I left him, but I might.”

---