Page 23 of Victorious: Part I

The silence on the other end chills me to the bone, followed by the sound of something shattering—glass breaking against a wall, I can only imagine.

“We killed the Cartel, Haven. We wiped it off the map. Whatthe fuckdo you mean some nephew of Rico is rebuilding?”

“Javier said Rico had planned this contingency. He basically put in this safety measure in the event of his death. Us wiping out the Cartel activated it. And that contingency is Javier taking over. Alpha, Javier is unhinged. He doesn’t care about boundaries or respecting the code. He’s out to take what he wants, to seek vengeance for his uncle. He wants to send averyclear message.”

Alpha snorts a mocking laugh. “Oh, I got his message, all right.” Alpha’s voice is barely controlled by his fury. “Hours ago. Livvy’s finger—”

“So, Javierdidsend it to the clubhouse?” My stomach drops.

“In a fucking chicken box,” he snarls. “We’ve been tearing the city apart, looking for you both. Loki’s been trying to trace your phone, the trucks, anything—”

“I’m sorry,” I cut in, guilt washing over me. “They ambushed me. My phone’s gone. I only got away because…” I pause, thinking of Nighthawk. “Someone helped us escape.”

“I’m coming,” Alpha snaps, his voice shifting to something harder, more controlled. “The whole club is. Poppy’s with me. We’ll be there in twenty minutes. Haven, is she—” He stops, unable to finish the question.

I close my eyes, seeing Livvy’s pale face, hearing her labored breathing.

Seeing the blood on her palm after coughing.

“Just hurry,” is all I can manage before ending the call.

Letting out a long breath, I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees and resting my head in my hands.

How the fuck did this happen?

How in the hell did I not know Nighthawk was still active?

Shaking my head, I sit back in the seat, feeling like, somehow, this is all my fault.

I glance at the seat beside me, where the clean scrub shirt is neatly placed, but I can’t summon the energy to change. Instead, I lean back, staring at the ceiling tiles, counting them to keep from falling apart.

Twenty-four.

Twenty-five.

Twenty-six.

A few minutes later, the same lovely nurse returns, her expression carefully neutral. “They’ve taken Livvy into surgery. Her injuries are extensive, but our best trauma team is working on her.”

Sitting taller, I gnaw on my bottom lip. “Will she make it?” I ask bluntly.

She hesitates—which tells me everything. “They’re doingeverythingpossible.”

I nod mechanically, too exhausted to press for false reassurances. “Her family’s coming. Her ex-husband and daughter.”

“I’ll watch for them,” she promises. “Try to rest if you can. I’ll bring you an update as soon as there’s news.”

Rest?

As if I could close my eyes without seeing Livvy strapped to that table, hearing her screams as Nighthawk followed orders to maintain her cover and sliced off Livvy’s finger.

Sitting back, my hand taps my knee with nervous tension. My entire body feels like it is rattling from the inside out.

And all I can do is wait.

Wait for news on Livvy.

Wait for Alpha and the club to arrive.

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