Page 126 of The Loves We Lost
“Son,” my dad says, but he sounds breathless.
I sit up. “You okay, Dad?”
“Shot . . . my . . . house.”
I shove Naomi off my lap and yank on some jeans. “You call an ambulance?”
There’s no answer.
“Dad? Shit. Penny. Call 911 and get an ambulance to Dad’s house.”
She does as I ask, while I pull on the rest of my clothes and boots. I march into the bar area, where the lockdown party is in full swing, and I look around until I find who I need. “Switch, Dad says he’s been shot.”
“Fuck. We can’t just leave,” he replies.
“I’m going, now. And I need your help.”
He glances around and waves Vex over. “Wrinkle’s been shot at his house. Tell King we’re leaving.”
“Jesus.” Vex squeezes my shoulder. “It could be a trap though.”
“I know. But it’s my dad. I gotta go.”
I ignore the rest of what’s said and run to my bike. “Open the gates enough that I can get my bike out,” I yell to the prospect on duty.
“I’m right behind you,” Switch shouts as I start my bike. He’s grabbed his medical kit backpack. “See you there.”
When I pull up to the house, I pause. I shouldn’t haven’t ridden my bike here. I’m too fucking drunk for this shit. I pull my gun from its holster when I see the front door is ajar.
Training kicks in. Habits take over. As much as I want to run inside, I know I have to act as though the perpetrator is still inside.
Switch is right. This could be a trap.
Even as I know my father is injured inside.
The old wooden steps creak as I step up them and slowly slide the front door open. I have the advantage over anyone still in here. I know the layout of this house, every place to hide.
Lola is screaming now, somewhere on the upper level. I make my way through the lower level, scanning every room until I find Mercy, facedown, on the kitchen floor. One of Lola’s bottles lies just out of reach, and powder of her formula dusts the counter.
There’s a heavy iron-tang to the air, and the ruby-red pool of blood caused by an unrecoverable head wound tells me she’s gone.
“Fuck me.” I breathe deep, centering myself. Whoever took out Mercy could still be here, and I need to remain vigilant.
When I don’t find Dad on the lower level, I creep up the stairs and check Lola’s nursery, where the little thing’s face is bright red. “I’ll be back for you, lollipop,” I whisper.
The wooden floor creaks beneath my foot. “Son,” I hear him cry, but not in warning, so I push the door open and step inside.
There’s blood. So much of it, I can’t tell where it’s coming from. Dad’s eyes are wide, his face white, his hand by his throat.
And he’s clearly close to death.
I’m so shell-shocked, I don’t even think about CPR. I grip his hand. “I’m here, Dad. Who the fuck did this?”
His head slowly turns to face me, tears brimming over. His mouth opens as if trying to tell me, but nothing comes out.
He takes a labored breath, then sighs.
I’ve heard the death sigh before. Too many times in too many foreign countries. My years as a Navy SEAL were unrelenting. And I feel it in the relax of his grip. His fingers no longer holding mine.
