Page 20 of Rear View
“His crimes fall under property offenses, so no notification is required. Even if it was, you weren’t his victim.” He cleared his throat. “He received a good recommendation from the keeper.”
My hand fisted, ready to hit something—or someone. “Who the hell’s the keeper?”
“The prison system.” He exhaled, good and heavy. “I checked into it. He started applying for parole the second he stepped inside. With his convictions, he should’ve been out a few years ago, but he must’ve used his connections because he linked up with one of the biker gangs there. Was found running their money. He’s either been good since then or gotten better at not getting caught. So, the system gave him the stamp, and the parole board agreed to hear him.”
I cursed and leaned back in the hard plastic chair, fighting not to crush the phone in my grip. “My ma, Castillo.”
She’d stayed good and hidden. Had changed her identity and lived a quiet life. Was way the hell off the grid, over seven hundred klicks away. But Peter Bosch was avindictive prick with a need for control. Surer than hell, he’d come for her.
“That’s why I’m calling,” Castillo acknowledged. “I’ve put in a request to attend.”
That was good. “Will you get to talk?”
“No. But if it’s approved, I will get to listen.”
My leg bounced as adrenaline pumped through my veins. “When’s the board give an answer?”
“If it’s an easy yes, immediately. Anything else, they’ll deliberate and come back at a later date with their decision.”
Not ideal, but knowing was better than being blindsided. I rolled my shoulders. My father’d only gotten nine years for both convictions. I knew he’d get out eventually, but that didn’t make the reality of it any easier.
“I’m due in court, but I’ll keep you posted,” Castillo said. “Take care of yourself, Xavier.”
Fuck.“Will do.” The call ended.
Some guy crossed into the ER and Zoya offered him a tight smile. He was tall, maybe two or three inches under me, and built like an athlete. Dark hair, hard eyes creased at the corners. Friend? Ryah’s guy? Something more? My stomach knotted at the idea.
She threw her arms around his neck and one of his hands patted her upper back. A hug between acquaintances. So, notZoya’sboyfriend. She led him my way and I stood.
“Miles, this is Xavier,” she said. “Xavier, Miles.”
We offered each other nods.
“Where’s my sister?” Miles asked.
The tightness in my shoulders eased. Relief. Fuckin’ relief. “They took her in for scans.”
He eyed me again, that time with more weight. Not achallenge. Not yet. But a vetting. He ticked his chin up. “You’re Xavier Bosch.” The “How the fuck do you know Ryah?” was implied.
“I am.”
“He helped,” Zoya said. “Kept the jerk who hit Ryah from running.”
A few of the lines on Miles’s forehead leveled out.
I extended a hand and he took it. “They brought your sister in quick. Been a while now. I’m hopin’ we’ll hear soon—”
“Excuse me, sir,” one of the nurses called.
Miles and I turned in unison, but the older woman’s eyes were on me. “The young lady’s being moved to a room now. You and your friends are welcome to meet her there.”
The knot in my gut loosened further. “Where do we go?”
She pointed. “Down that hall till you hit the end, then hang a left. It’s room one-oh-three.”
My mouth went dry. Would Ryah be weirded out at me still being there? I hoped not, ’cause I couldn’t leave. Wanted to know she was good. Damn well needed to.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, we aimed that way, and a minute later, crossed into the stark-white and sterile room. Ryah lay back on the angled bed, a pillow tucked under her head. There were machines around, but none hooked up to her, which was good. When she spotted us, she sat up. Her gaze slid from Zoya, to her brother, to me, then held. She trailed a finger over my coat where it sat in her lap and bit her lip. “You’re still here.”
