Page 46 of Insidious Truths

He turned away from me then and placed his glass on the bar, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the ledge.

“Besides,” I continued, “we have far worse problems to worry about than your deception. That meeting tonight, it was a setup. That note Damien left wasn’t meant for us. It was meant for Samara.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” he asked, raising his head to look at me, his eyes wide with worry. “What happened?”

“You may want to sit down for this,” I offered, nudging my head to the recliner. “You’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you.”

Xavier

15

Ithrew the bottle I was holding across the room, having decided to wait until Rhett departed to break, feeling like the sorriest piece of shit in the world.

My poor daughter. My princess. She’d been defiled. Abused. Fuckingraped.

And Rhett… My sons.

Fuck.

This day would haunt me for the rest of my existence.

Not knowing what else to do, and for the sake of all the money I’d invested in this basement, I grabbed my wallet and keys off the bar top. I had my dear half-sister’s number pulled up and the phone against my ear just as I made it outside to my car.

“Niccolò,” Val answered softly. “How are you?”

“Horrible. Is this a bad time?”

“I’m with Griffin. I-I couldn’t sleep. Vet is here too, running tests.”

I nodded to that. “I’m on my way.”

I got in my car and drove, trying to clear my head and figure shit out. My heart hurt so fucking much. My instincts fucking begged me to do what I should’ve done weeks ago and plow my SUV through Damien’s club and light the motherfucker up with flames. Damien Reyez was playing one hell of a nasty game with not only me, but Crane, Sinclair, and Alesi too. I’d waited far too long to make a move, but now, thanks to the intel Rhett provided, it was time to fight fire with fire and give that motherfucker a taste of his own medicine. It wouldn’t be easy. In fact, in order to do this required deeper intel.Fuck.It was a colossal risk, but I just may have to bite the bullet, set my personal feelings aside, and reach out to Sinclair after all.

I finally made it to the old vet clinic. Val’s dark blue Prius and the vet’s giant pickup truck were parked at the back of the building. I shut off the car, got out, then locked the doors behind me. I walked in and found my sister sitting in a chair beside Griffin, and the vet studying the monitors, jotting down Griffin’s vitals on a clipboard.

“Niccolò,” Val spoke first, greeting me with a half-smile. She rose to her feet and opened her arms to me, the gesture surprising me a little. Val was furious with me—has been for years now—over Griffin’s status between the Outlaws and Ravagers, and we hadn’t exactly been on civil terms since Griffin was hospitalized. Avenging his father’s death was a decision neither me nor Val could talk Griffin out of no matter how hard we’d tried. By the time Griffin succeeded, he was already in too deep with the Outlaws and the only way out was through death. Val had warned me years ago that all of this shit would come back to bite us in the ass. It shattered me to admit she was right.

I rounded the bed and held onto Val tight, giving the vet a nod when he looked back and offered me a hopeful smile.

“Vet has good news.”

“Oh?” I wondered, keeping my eyes on him. “Good news is something I could really use right now. Lay it on me, Doc.”

He smiled when Val and I parted. “Griffin’s results are very promising. The antibiotics have done their job and there are no further signs of infection.”

“And the surgery?”

He smiled bigger, nodding. “Unless something happens and he takes a fatal turn in the next 48 to 72 hours, I don’t see any reason to prolong it any further.” He paused for a moment, staring at us the way all doctors do just before they drop the bomb. “However… With your permission, I’d like to administer a breathing test on Griffin first and attempt to wake him from the coma. He still has somemildbruising on his lungs, but the worst of it has subsided exponentially. Again, his results are promising. There’s a great chance Griffin could wake up sometime tonight or early tomorrow morning.”

“But if he doesn’t?” Val asked nervously.

“I’m quite confident he will,” the vet said through a soft chuckle. “As long as he passes the breathing test, I can remove the tube and then the rest will be up to him. His brain activity is surprisingly strong, which means he’s still in there, fighting. Even if the breathing test does manage to fail, the good news is that I can still operate and put the plate in. The bad news is that we’ll have to wait another week before I can attempt another breathing test. If that fails, then…”

“I-I’ll have a choice,” my sister whispered, tears filling her eyes.

The vet nodded, frowning at her. “I’m afraid so.”

“It’s your call,” I told Val, squeezing her hand. “He’s your son.”

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