Page 117 of The Games We Play
“You’re an ATF agent. You can’t just kill ’em.”
“Was. Iwasan ATF agent. After tonight, who the fuck knows what I’ll be. Trust me, Spark. I gotta go. And while you may not feel the same way about me after tonight, the last two years have been the best of my fucking life. Redefined who I am as a man. I’m better for your friendship, man.”
I should just kill him with my bare hands, but what he’s saying makes sense.
“I’ll drop Iris off at the hospital, and report to my handler that I’m out,” he continues. “Trust me, it’s the only way Iris and Br—well, it’s the only way they get justice. And I’d rather get the real scum. The traffickers who prey on women.”
His rationale is solid. I look to the van. “Take care of her.”
“With my life.”
“Don’t make me kill you.”
“That will be your choice. But I won’t give you reason beyond those I already stated. This gets you all out of there. Besides, love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this; to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. John 15:12-13. It was good knowing you, Spark.”
Saint holds his gun steady until he is in the driver’s seat. My heart is in my mouth as the engine starts. “Fuck.” I can’t decide if letting him go is the right thing. But my gut tells me to trust him, even as my brain processes the massive fucking lie.
And I hop on my bike and follow.
Saint is as good as his word, and I do as he said. I call King and tell him I see police vehicles headed his way. I explain Saint’s driving the van, I’m with my bike. I’ll tell him the real story later, because ... Well, fuck, I realize I want Saint to have a head start.
I go to a bar and numbly down a shot of tequila. I take Saint’s advice and try to hold my shit together but speak loudly so the bartender will notice me, in case my alibi ever gets questioned.
Time becomes a blur once I’m at the hospital. Iris regains consciousness for moments, and then everything slips away. Nurses come and go.
She groans, and I feel fucking impotent and helpless. She’s medicated. Heavy on the sedation and pain relief. I wish I had a bottle of tequila to numb the ache in my heart.
My brothers arrive and refuse to leave the hospital, despite being instructed to do so.
I step out into the corridor to tell King what is happening, but he has his phone to his ear. Suddenly he yells, “What the fuck, Saint? What did you do?”
I’m not a religious man, but Saint is. So I say a quick prayer for him, just in case Saint’s right and there is a Big Guy who can help him.
Back in Iris’s room, I sit next to the bed and hold her hand, repeating how much I love her until my head gets heavy, and I fall asleep.
Fingertips brushing my hair wake me with a jolt. Iris is moving. Her eyes are closed, but her hand reaches for me.
“Hey,” I say, my voice deep and hoarse. “Iris?”
Her eyes flicker open. “Hey.”
I pick up her hand and kiss it. “You feeling okay, little chick?”
“What time is it?” She glances to the window and squints. It’s still dark.
I glance at my watch. “A little after four in the morning. You need anything?”
“Maybe some water in a minute.”
I reach for the cup and straw and hold it for her so she can take a sip. “Steady, sweetheart.” After I place it back on the nightstand, I lean forward and brush her forehead with my lips.
“What happened? What do I have to tell the police?”
“You sure you’re ready to talk about this? We have a couple more hours before any of the nurses come check on you.”
“I’m ready.” She goes to move, but her arm is back in a clean brace, and she winces. “God. Everything hurts, especially my shoulders and arms.”
“Let me help.” I place my hand under her armpits and take the weight as she sits upright.
