Page 22 of Ruined

“Never better,” Bobby says. “Let me fucking talk to Angelo. I don’t like taking instructions through a lawyer.”

“It is well known you do not like taking instructions at all,” the voice on the other end purrs. I don’t recognize it, but it is obviously the attorney representing the Vitali interests.

“She’s awake,” he says. “And she’s alive. So let’s get this fucking swap done, huh? I need Angelo back.”

As rough and brutal as Bobby sounds, there’s something just so lost about the way he sounds when he says he wants Angelo. My heart goes out to him.

“I will inform the relevant authorities,” the lawyer says. “Keep your phone near you.”

With that, the call ends. Bobby doesn’t look happy. I can hardly blame him. He has no reason to trust the justice system to keep him safe, and it could quite easily be a trap.

“You’re a kill target.”

“What?” He looks at me with a sharp, violent gaze.

“On the agency’s list. Angelo is a capture target. They already have him. But you’re on a kill list. There’s a decent chance they will try to kill you rather than swap Angelo for me.”

“Why am I a fucking kill target?”

“Because you’re violent, hard to control, and in the eyes of the agency, you don’t know anything. You’re the dog the cops shoot in the yard before they break down the front door.”

That analogy is as brutal as it is accurate, and I see it hit home. I don’t know if this is just going to make Bobby more paranoid and more dangerous, but I had to tell him the truth. Nobody out there wants him alive.

“Angelo’s not stupid,” I say. “Maybe he’s got this handled on his side.”

“Maybe,” Bobby says. “Or maybe I drop you somewhere, then tell them where you are. I don’t care about being killed, but I don’t want to be caught.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“But you’re still so sick,” he scowls. “I don’t want to leave you unprotected.”

It is a fascinating and incredibly sweet thing to see Bobby torn out of concern for me. I know that those in the House of Vitali don’t love the way other people do, but it is starting to feel as though Bobby might love me.

* * *

It takes a few days for things to be organized. For those few days, Bobby and I are holed up in the motel room. Bobby looks after me as well as he knows how, and I prepare myself mentally to be returned to the world as I knew it.

“You going to go back to being a Fed? Going to come for us?”

“I’m not coming for you,” I promise him. “I’ve learned my lesson. Look at all the shit that’s happened to me since I came near you.”

It’s been two days, not counting these post-raid days. I was in the House of Vitali for two days. That should not be enough to change anything, but it feels like it has changed absolutely everything.

Bobby’s phone rings.

It’s the lawyer. I can’t hear the conversation this time, but I know who it was because the second he disconnects the call, he’s trying to get things moving.

“Can you get up? Just slow. Don’t fuck the stitches. The sooner we get you swapped, the sooner you can get to a Fed doctor and Angelo can come home.”

“Can’t wait to get rid of me, huh?” I try to smile through cracked lips. I’ve hardly had to move at all while Bobby’s been looking after me. I assume I can move. I also assume it will hurt. As it turns out when I try, I am right on both assumptions.

“Don’t worry,” I tell Bobby. “I won’t say anything they’ll find useful. Not after this.”

“I don’t know if you’re going back as hero or a suspect,” he says honestly. “But you’re going back.”

I can’t expect Angelo or Bobby to choose me over themselves. That would be madness. But there’s still a pang deep in the pit of my stomach, right where I’m wounded. It makes me wish I was part of them enough that they wanted to keep me.

My guess is they’ve tried to get Angelo on kidnapping charges, but the whole thing has gotten messy. My next guess is that when I get back, they’re going to not only squeeze me for intel, but try to bolster those potential charges.

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