Page 90 of Samson

Hall took a deep breath. “Where would we find Luca?”

“He owns the restaurant. He’s my cousin.”

“You said that. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s in the hospital with a gunshot wound.”

“He was shot?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who shot him?”

“Yes, Marc Rubin.”

“The man who was here?”

“Yes.”

“Was there anyone with him?”

“Yeah, there were some guys who didn’t say anything. They were like bodyguards or something. And there was another man. The one who was going to kill Riley. I don’t remember his name, but it was foreign sounding.”

An officer rushed out of the building and spoke into Hall’s ear.

“What is it?” Delilah said. “Did you find something? Did you find Samson?”

“We found blood.”

She sagged. “How much?”

“We’re going to take you down to the station,” Hall said.

“I kicked the foreign guy in the face. Do you think it could be his blood?”

“We can talk more at the station.”

“You have to find Agent Trevors. I need to speak to him.”

“We’ll do what we can.”

“Find Agent Trevors. He’ll tell you everything.”

“Let’s go.”

Samson couldn’t make his legs work, and he couldn’t see. They dragged him down a flight of stairs, then down a corridor. He knew because he could hear their movement echoing off close walls.

He didn’t bother fighting. Whether it was because of the drugs or because he’d lost the will to live after they killed his daughter, it didn’t matter. Life was worthless now. He would have given anything for her to still be alive. If he’d followed God instead of running from the pain, she might still be.

But it was too late. Realizing now that everything he’d built in his life was dust did nothing to ease his pain. All he could hope for was a quick death, but even that he didn’t deserve.

He thought of Delilah, and another kind of ache rose in his chest. He’d let himself care for her and opened up the only vulnerable part of himself he had, and she’d used it against him. She’d lied to him and betrayed him.

He was yanked to a halt and forced onto his feet. He took his weight but wasn’t confident his legs would hold until they pushed him forward and he tripped, his feet catching him as he fell. His shoulder slammed hard into a wall.

A door clanged shut, but he didn’t move. He kept his shoulder pressed into the wall, trying to embrace the pain there, if only to ease the suffering in his heart. It worked for a minute, but then it dulled, and reality still stood starkly before him.

He shifted so his back was pressed against the wall, and he yanked the burlap sack off his head.

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