Divided (Unguarded #2) (13 page)

He turns to me.
Finally.

“You weren’t supposed to be in the club. We got told you weren’t working there anymore.”

He glances around my face, stopping at my hair that’s now back to blonde.

My brows furrow in and my hand moves to my hair at the mention of it. “I still work there just not on the pole anymore and not as often. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

His face contorts as he swerves through the traffic. “I’m undercover. Well, at least, I was… until you saw me. Now I don’t know what’s gonna happen. Lucio’s had suspicions about me for a while. I never gained his trust like I have Giuseppe’s and after you pulling up at the table, I’m not sure if he picked up on us knowing one another—”

I slink back into my chair. “He didn’t see anything,” I interrupt.

“Yeah, well, let’s hope not.”

“What’s going to happen?” My fear steals my voice as the last of my words come off soft.

Roamyn holds strong. “Exactly what should have happened a long time ago. We’re going to bring those bastards down.”

“Get down! Get down on the ground. Hands where I can see them,” Mason roars, leading our team, alongside a SWAT unit. I fall behind, cover unknown if it’s still intact. Helmet on my head, the only difference between me and the SWAT unit—the giant NYPD white letters across my bulletproof vest covered chest. Others repeat Mason’s demands. Guns up, trained on our enemies, on everyone armed, I search for her. It all happens so fast, a blip in time but an eternity in my mind. My heart drums to a painful beat, my adrenaline spikes so high I can barely think, barely see. I just want to find her. I have to find her.

Where is she?

I keep scanning the room for Ali. My head starts to spin. My vision becomes all but a blur until a shot rings out and time slows to a deadly stop. Silence halts the room, along with my breath. Mason’s gun drops to the floor with a thud, loud and echoing, the only audible sound, he runs, jumps, lunges in front of a flying bullet. It only misses him by millimeters but saves a woman’s life. Relief floods me. Chaos returns. Rubble litters every available surface of Sweet Tarts. Windows are smashed, glass sharp on the old wooden floors. Furniture torn, ripped with bullet holes from poorly aimed shooters. Uniforms outnumber the lawless and within moments, everything’s under control. Still chaos, but controlled. Cuffs are slapped on. Miranda rights are read. Now’s my chance to search the rest of the building. My legs move down the hall without thinking, where I know the offices, dressing, and storerooms are located.

She has to be here.

If Lucio made any kind of connection, he wouldn’t have let her out of his sight when he got her back early this morning. When Mason forced me to let her go because we couldn’t keep her. Because surprise
fucking
surprise, she refused to cooperate when I wouldn’t tell her what was going on. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t, Mason would never allow it. I’d never felt the pain of betraying someone I care about, and whether she knew the truth or not, even though I knew everything I was doing was to protect her, it didn’t dull the ache in my chest after watching the light fade from her eyes. She thought I’d thrown her to the wolves and in a way I had. What she didn’t know is I plan to be there to pick up every broken piece of her. So I choked back the pain of watching her leave, believing I’d betrayed her.

My hands tighten around my gun as I move with precision. The back is swarming with cops but it doesn’t stop me from being cautious. Unsettlement resides in my chest. A heavy ache of dread and worry, of what condition I might find her in. I twist my upper body around, searching the main office. My eyes land on a small body recoiled in the corner, long golden locks hiding the tears I know are falling with every bob of her shoulders. Air refuels my lungs with oxygen I didn’t know I’d lost. It’s sharp, painful, but one I’d endure every fucking day just to know she’s safe. I rip the helmet off my head. I holster my gun and propel forward scooping her up against my chest, she lifts her head. Black lines trickle down her face. Her make-up, smeared. Her lip split. Her right eye a ghastly purple. My heart sings, eyes soften.

Cupping a hand around her face, I pull her against me and whisper in her hair, “I got you, babe. I promise I’ve got you.”

Ali wipes the back of her hand across her face and pushes off my chest. “No, you haven’t, Roam. You haven’t got me. This is what you’ve got.” She motions around us, anger in her tone. Hopelessness in her slow movement. “You wanted to bring down the mafia? Well, congratulations. You probably made the bust of your career. I hope it’s worth everything and everyone you’ve hurt in the process.”

My brows pinch together. The loss of her closeness almost an immediate throb. Her accusations, a punch to my stomach. She has no clue how many times I’ve dreamt for this day to finally happen. But I never imagined this was how it would all go down.

“Ali—”

“No. Just stop. I don’t want to see you right now.” Her shoulders drop and she hangs her head. “My sister was supposed to be picking me up. I need to go out there and pray she missed all of this. So please, just leave me alone.”

Her eyes beg me, plead me to listen. I nod reluctantly, pushing past the lump in the back of my throat. “Okay.”

I push up from the floor and make my way out. Surprise stops me mid-step when I reach the bar and find Mason, arms enveloping, lips to the ear of the same woman he jumped in front of a bullet for less than five minutes ago.

“You know I think that’s the closest contact I’ve ever seen him have with a woman and I’ve been working for the dude for three years.” Elias comes up behind me, hands in his pockets, eyebrows halfway up his forehead as he stares at Mason and the brunette. “She’s pretty hot.”

Cassidy walks over, obviously hearing Eli and slaps him upside the back of his head. “Would you two pick your jaws up off the floor and do your damn jobs.” She keeps on walking without another word. We weren’t the only ones to notice Mason with a female in his arms that wasn’t his daughter. I wander over to them. My presence goes unnoticed. They’re too busy eye fucking each other to see me standing beside them. I cough, breaking their moment and Mason shoots me a glare screaming, fuck off. The brunette backs away from Mason and I can’t help the smirk breaking out on my face because Elias was right. She’s gorgeous. Fit little body with long brown hair to the top of her ass, high cheekbones, perfect thick lips and steel-blue eyes to set off her creamy colored skin.

Steel-blue eyes.

Just like Ali’s.

I double take, my stare incredulous.
No, could it be?

It could. It is. And if there was any doubt in my mind this is Ali’s sister it was gone when the pretty brunette swept her into her arms.

I’d like to say things turned out just the way they should have. That Ali told us everything she knew and escaped without charges. That she got help and went on to have a normal healthy life without living in fear from betraying the only real family she’d ever had. That the Marino men were found guilty on all accounts and would never see the light of day again. But that didn’t happen. Life didn’t gift us an easy journey of smooth sailing with the occasional light breeze. We were sent into a storm with waves big enough to drown us all and everyone we cared about. We just had to find the strength to swim against the current and make it out alive.

Rehab Treatment Center – Day One

“Get away from me. I hate you! I hate you… just go away,” Ali screams through a face full of tears. Two nurses restrain her, calming her with soft words but it doesn’t have any effect. It doesn’t resonate at all.

I hold my hands up in surrender. “Ali. Please.”

My heart splinters. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Her sweaty hair sticks to her face as she fights the strength of the nurses despite her having no strength at all. I’m sure if they held her fragile body tightly enough a bone would crack. Her cries and screams pierce the air and rip me to shreds. I could be stabbed again and again and the pain wouldn’t hurt as much as watching this, seeing her fall apart.

“This is your fault! Everything is your fault. I hate you.”

A hand comes to rest on my shoulder and Ali’s doctor stands by my side, sympathetic look on her face.

“Now might not be the best time.” She gives me a pained smile.

“Is this normal?” I croak out, my voice close to cracking as I glance back at Ali now doubled over, her skinny arms curled around her middle belting out blood-curdling screams of agony. Her pale skin blends in with the white walls of the room, but the black rings around her eyes stand out like headlights.

“Yes. This is a part of the detoxing process. An Oxycontin addiction can have very severe withdrawal symptoms and are often too strong for patients to tolerate. She’s in excruciating pain, Detective Tate. I hope you can find some comfort in knowing we are doing everything we can to help her through this. This is the best place she can be right now,” she reassures. “Maybe coming back tomorrow, or in a few more days would be a good idea. It will give her a little more time to gain back some control over the withdrawal. Hopefully, she’ll be in a calmer frame of mind by then.”

A nurse jabs Ali with what the doctor explains is a drug used to help with weaning off the Oxy, and within a minute, Ali calms. Her eyes close and her limbs soften. The nurses catch her before she falls and I reach for her.

“May I?” I ask the nurses, putting my hands out to Ali. I want to hold her in my arms while I have the chance. I want to whisper sorry, a thousand times over in her ear.

Sorry, for making her experience such pain.

Sorry, for leaving her an ultimatum.

Jail and be killed
or rehab and testify.

To her they weren’t choices, they were death sentences. To me, they were our only hope. Hope for Ali to break free of addiction. Hope for Giuseppe and Lucio Marino to be locked away. With any luck, they’ll get shanked in prison. Their list of enemies is no short read.

One of the nurses nods. “Sure. You can put her in bed and we’ll let her get some rest.”

I scoop her up in my arms and she falls limp against me, her skin ice cold.

I lay her down in the bed that will be hers for the next few months. Staring down at her, my heart throbs, a consistent ache screaming at me with regret even if this was the right thing to do.

Rehab Treatment Center – Day Three

Blood rises under my skin from the scratching. But I keep scratching. The itch won’t go away. The bugs won’t stop. My skin crawls with them, but when I open my eyes they aren’t there. Instead, my arms, my legs, my tummy—everywhere is red, blotchy, and full of little scrapes drawing blood to the surface. I close my eyes again, opening them was too much. Too bright. Used too much energy. There’s just nothing left. It’s as if my body is filled with lead and my limbs are too heavy to move. My fingers my only saving grace using little effort to soothe my itchy skin and scratch the bugs away.

A shiver coats my skin with ice. I’m cold, my bones shaking. But no one will make me warm. A blanket—my heart warms at the mere thought of wrapping myself in heat. I curl my knees up to my chin, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to gain some warmth when a voice sounds.

“She’s burning up again, but she’s okay at the moment.”

My brows furrow, trying to concentrate on the voice. It’s close yet so far away, indistinguishable in my mind.

“That’s okay I won’t stay too long. I know I was supposed to wait a few more days but I—”

My pulse begins to race. This voice is deeper, different, a voice I love. Roamyn.

“I just couldn’t.”

My bed dips but I don’t have enough strength to open my eyes to push through the shiver. The body aches. The constant dull pain of stomach cramps.

“I know this is hurting you, Ali. It’s hurting me too. I wish you knew how fucking much. But you’re gonna get better and when you do it will all be worth it. You’ll be free.”

Free.

The word echoes in my mind. I’ll never be free. Not from my past.

Rehab Treatment Center – Day Fourteen

“There you go, sweetie.”

“Thanks.” I force a smile at the nurse who brought food to me so I wouldn’t have to leave my room. If they don’t bring it in, they know I won’t eat. I’m not ready to face the world yet. My skull thumps and I rub a hand across my forehead, wishing away the headache that’s been torturous for days. Picking up a piece of fruit off the plate, I pop it in my mouth and head back to my bed where I can curl up and sleep through the detoxing. On the way, my gaze lingers on the few personal items coloring the otherwise boring spotless room of off-whites and beige. I woke a few days ago more lucid, in control. I knew where I was. I remembered why. But the days before were a blurred mess. The magazines, candy bars and clothes caught my attention first when I woke. I thought maybe Lindsey had been here and brought some of her clothes up for me, but when I sifted through the pieces of material, I knew they weren’t from her. Linds has class. I wear sass. She hadn’t bought me cut-offs, tanks, ripped jeans and combat boots.

“Hey.”

I turn to the door and my heart stammers.

“Hey,” I greet Roamyn standing with his hands in the pockets of low hanging jeans. He looks around unsure, and I realize why. The nurses had filled me in about the past few days that are still blank in my mind.

“It’s okay. I’m feeling a bit better today. I’m not going to lose it on you again.”

He blows out a breath, relief clear in his eyes.

“Come in. Have a seat.” I pat beside me on the bed and it dips when Roam sits down. His hand grazes mine and I shift over putting space between us.

“How are you doing?” he asks, his expression agonizing. So painful it hurts to imagine what condition I must have been in for him to be so worried.

I breathe in, letting the air fill my lungs with a new kind of hope. Because as I look around, as I embrace how my body feels right now, I’m still alive. Scars, inside and out, may never fade. But the aches and pains will subside. Surface wounds will heal and it’s all because of him. I hate what he did and how I came to be here. But I can’t ignore the pressure lifting from my soul the moment I woke knowing I’d survived my worst days. Nothing could be worse than what I’d just endured, and I had Roamyn to thank for it. It was an unexplainable pain like I was stuck in limbo. My body ripping in half while fate decided if was going to live or die. I’ve been blessed with another chance at life. I won’t ever take it for granted again.

“I think I’m doing all right. Considering…” my voice fades as I lower my face, hiding the embarrassment blushing my cheeks. “The… um, the doctor said everyone reacts differently with detoxing, and I don’t really remember much about the first few days but I do know I acted like a brat to you and I shouldn’t have.”

His hand brushes my thigh. “Hey. Don’t apologize. Not for what you went through to get to now. You shouldn’t be sorry for it. A lot of people don’t come out the other side of what you’ve been through. You’ve done good, babe.” He sounds so reassuring, his tone serious but uplifting. I almost believe it.

“Okay.” I nod, tucking my loose hair behind my ear.

Roamyn scratches his head and his expression changes. “Ali there’s something I want to tell you. It might not make up for the hurt I’ve caused you now, or those years ago the night you left my apartment, but it might help you understand why I’ve done what I have.”

“Okay.” Uncertainty laces my tone. My brows pinch together.

Roamyn shifts his vacant gaze to the window on the opposite wall to my bed. “Growing up, I only had my mom and grandma. I never knew my dad and to this day, I still don’t know who he is. When I was five years old, my mom was murdered right in front of me.”

I gasp at his confession.

“After that, my grandma took me away from the city. We moved to California because it was pretty much as far away from this place as we could get. I saw a lot of doctors because I couldn’t remember shit. They told me I had repressed memories and may never remember what happened before, during, or even after Mom’s murder. When I was sixteen, my first memory came back. I remembered the face of the man who killed her. When I described him to Grandma, she made me promise not to tell anyone because if we did, it would put our lives in danger. Then a few months after hitting nineteen grandma was diagnosed with cancer. She only had a short time left because they caught it so late. Do you know what the last thing she said to me before she died was?”