Sweet Surrender (24 page)

P
ain. It was the one thing he was aware of as he opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Gray blinked, and then the memory of what happened came roaring back.

He flipped himself over, ignoring the surge of agony that blasted through his chest. He put an experimental hand up to his shoulder, and looked as he pulled it away again. Red. Bright red blood. Fuck.

He scrambled over to where Mick lay. He rolled the older man over, his chest tightening when he saw the massive chest wound. He knew before he felt for a pulse that he would find none.

Tears burned his eyes. He was so goddamn angry. Mick’s death was as pointless as Alex’s. And now Faith’s life was in danger.

The room swam in his vision. He felt light-headed and weak from the blood loss. In his pocket, he felt his phone pulse and vibrate. Ignoring the screaming pain shooting through his body, he thrust his hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone. He flipped it open and shoved it to his ear just as he collapsed back to the floor.

Micah didn’t even wait for him to mutter a greeting. He started sounding off, cursing a blue streak.

“Slow down,” Gray said weakly. “What was that about a news story?”

“Your fucking buddy Mick set you up. You have to get the hell out of there, Gray. He went on the goddamn news going on about the operation and how you and Faith were in hiding—”

“It’s too late,” Gray managed to rasp out. “He’s been here. He has Faith. Mick’s dead. I’ve been shot. Need help.”

“Oh Christ. Fuck. Man, are you okay? Talk to me. Hold the line while I call the damn ambulance.”

“Not dying. Just feel like it. I think.”

Again Micah cursed. Gray heard him yell at someone in the background and then vaguely heard him tell a 911 operator the situation and the address of the beach house.

Micah’s voice grew dimmer and dimmer. He gritted his teeth and tried to hold on. At some point, Nathan got on the phone, but none of what he said made sense. It was all a garbled mess.

“Find Faith,” he whispered. “Don’t worry about me. You have to find Faith.”

He faintly registered someone shouting his name, but he wasn’t strong enough to hold the phone to his ear any longer. It clattered to the floor as the room went dark once again.

Blinding light pierced his eyeballs as someone peeled back his eyelids. He shook his head and snapped his eyes shut again.

“Come on, son, wake up.”

Gray let his eyes flutter open.

“Ah, that’s better.”

The room came into focus, and Gray realized he was in a hospital bed. A man he presumed was a doctor stared at him from a few feet away, clipboard in hand.

Gray’s gaze skirted around the room until he saw Micah standing in the far corner, phone to his ear.

“Where’s Faith?” he rasped.

Micah snapped the phone shut and hurried to the bed. “Shit, man, you scared the hell out of me. It’s about damn time you woke up.”

Gray looked between him and the doctor. “How long have I been out?”

“A little over twenty-four hours,” the doctor replied.

Gray let out a stream of curses, and he struggled to get out of the bed.

“Whoa, son, where do you think you’re going?” the doctor demanded as he put a hand on Gray’s chest and shoved him back down on the bed.

Gray looked desperately at Micah. “Faith. Where is she? Have you found her?”

Micah’s expression was grim as he shook his head. “Sorry, man. Nothing yet.”

Gray shut his eyes and thumped his head against the pillow. “I have to get out of here. I have to find her.”

The doctor frowned and turned his disapproving stare on Gray. “You won’t be going anywhere today.”

“How bad is it?” Gray demanded, as he gestured toward his heavily bandaged shoulder.

“Not nearly as bad as it could be,” the doctor said in a placating voice. “Just a flesh wound. I stitched you up. Our main concern was the loss of blood. Sometimes the simplest wounds bleed badly.”

“If it’s just a flesh wound, then I can get the hell out of here,” Gray growled.

“You need to rest. I might consider letting you go tomorrow, although I’d prefer you to stay a few days. We have to monitor you for infection.”

“I’m leaving today,” Gray said through gritted teeth. “Write me a damn prescription for some painkillers and some antibiotics, and I’ll be good to go.”

“If you leave, you’ll have to sign as AMA.”

“I don’t give a shit. I’m walking out of here, with or without your permission.”

He glanced at Micah, expecting to get grief from that corner, but Micah stayed silent.

The doctor sighed. “All right, but I’m going on record that you’re leaving against strict medical advice. I’ll write the prescriptions. Be sure and take those antibiotics. If you start running fever or your wound gets red and inflamed or swells more, then you get your ass back here.”

Gray shoved himself into an upright position and nearly passed out as a wave of pain hit him. He groaned and reached down with his free hand to steady himself.

Micah gripped his arm. “Hang on to me, and don’t try to stand up too fast.”

Between the two of them, they managed to get Gray out of bed. The doctor returned a moment later and handed Micah a piece of paper with the prescriptions on it. Then he shoved a clipboard at Gray.

Gray took it and didn’t bother reading over it. He knew what it said. The whole spiel about the hospital not accepting responsibility if he dropped dead in the parking lot. Yeah, he got it. He scribbled his signature and thrust the clipboard back at the doctor.

He waited for Micah to head out, and he followed slowly behind, trying not to acknowledge the way the floor shifted and swayed underneath him. He felt like a goddamn sissy.

By the time Micah half dragged, half helped him to the lobby, Gray was sweating, and he was sure he had to be white as a sheet.

“Dude, I’m not so sure this was a good idea,” Micah said. “You look like shit. Are you going to make it?”

“I have to find her,” he said, allowing the desperation he felt to flow out in his voice. “Have you heard anything? What’s going on?” And as they stepped out of the front entrance, sunlight blinded him. He blinked and then shook his head. “Where the fuck are we?”

“Houston,” Micah said shortly. “Look, you stay here. Sit on that bench and don’t move while I go get my truck. I’ll be back in a second.”

Gray slid onto the bench and tried to settle his rolling stomach. To be honest, he felt like he was going to fucking puke. He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand and tried not to let panic overtake him.

Faith. God, what must she be thinking? Not only was she scared to death, but she thought he’d betrayed her. Used her. Fuck. He had, but not in the way she thought. He closed his eyes and tried to hold back the rage that consumed him.

A few minutes later, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Micah standing over him. He groaned as Micah helped him up, and as much as it pissed him off to do so, he had to lean on Micah in order to make it to the truck.

“I’ll dump your prescriptions off at the pharmacy down the block from the office, and I’ll go back and get them when they’re ready,” Micah said as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Gray said as they drove away. “What was that about Mick and a news story? And Faith. Have you been able to get any leads? Has the bastard contacted Pop?”

“Slow down, dude. One question at a time. I’m sorry about Mick, by the way.”

Gray closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. “I want this bastard, Micah. First Alex, then Mick and now he has Faith. I want him.”

“I know, man. We all want to nail his ass. And we will. You have to believe that.”

“What about the rest?” Gray asked tiredly.

“Mick was pissed that not enough was being done to catch Samuels. His words, not mine. So he took it upon himself to try and draw Samuels out. It was stupid and desperate. I don’t know what the fuck he was thinking. He contacted a local news station and gave them the entire story. He wasn’t thinking clearly. The interview was a mess. I can’t even believe they ran it. He was obviously out of his mind. He put himself out there, and Samuels capitalized. I don’t know much else. Neither do the cops. They’re all waiting to talk to you. They’re going to be pissed when they learn you left the hospital before they got a chance to question you.”

“Too fucking bad,” Gray muttered. “Goddamn it. What was Mick thinking? It’s such a damn waste. How did Samuels get to him so quickly? And how the fuck did Mick know where I was?”

Micah grew silent, and Gray yanked his head to look at him. “Jesus, you don’t think I used her as bait do you? I never told Mick where Faith and I were. Nobody but you and the others knew.”

“I don’t think so,” Micah said after a long pause. “But I can’t guarantee you what Pop and the others think. This whole thing has gone straight into the shitter. We have no leads, thanks to your buddy.”

Gray closed his eyes and pounded his fist on the seat, ignoring the sharp burst of pain that washed over him.

Micah pulled up at a drive-through pharmacy and handed the prescriptions through the window. He answered a few questions then asked Gray for his date of birth before he rolled his window back up and drove away.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, and a few minutes later, Micah parked outside Malone and Sons. Gray sat there a moment, steeling himself for the confrontation that was to come. He didn’t blame Pop for being angry. Gray had let Faith down in a big way.

Micah opened the door. “Come on, buddy, I’ll help you in. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

Gray slid out of the seat, wincing when his feet hit the ground. He felt the jolt all the way to his chest. Like an old man, he staggered to the entrance, and Micah went in ahead of him.

The office was in chaos. When Gray entered, Pop, Connor and Nathan all turned around to stare at him.

Pop started forward. “What the hell are you doing here? You should be laid up in the hospital.”

Nathan quickly shoved a chair in Gray’s direction, which was good, because he was about to fall over. He sank into the chair, grateful that the room quit spinning at least.

Connor, however, stayed back, arms crossed, a glare on his face.

“Any word?” he heard Micah ask.

“Bastard called a half hour ago,” Pop said grimly.

Gray surged to his feet. The room spun at a dizzying angle, and if Micah hadn’t caught him, he would have fallen on his face.

“Jesus, dude, cut that shit out. Sit your ass down,” Micah said.

“Faith. Is she all right?” Gray demanded as he sucked in steadying breaths.

“He says she is, but he wouldn’t let me talk to her,” Pop said. “He wants a million tomorrow morning, or he says he’s going to kill her.”

The tears that he’d been trying to hold back flooded his eyes. Gray closed his eyes and tried like hell to get a grip on the anger and grief storming like a locomotive through his head.

When he opened them, he saw anger in Pop’s eyes but no condemnation.

“I didn’t sell her out,” Gray croaked out around the knot in his throat. “I love her.”

Pop sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know. You shouldn’t be here. You need to get back to the hospital or at least go home. Let us take care of this. We’ll get her back.”

Gray shook his head fiercely. “She’s out there. Scared. Alone. She thinks I betrayed her. No way I’m going to bed until she’s safe.”

He looked beyond Pop to where Nathan and Connor stood. “That bastard killed my partner, and now he’s killed Mick. I won’t let him take Faith from me.”

He saw grudging acceptance in Connor’s eyes.

Micah touched him on the shoulder. “Man, there are two Galveston cops here to talk to you. They want to question you about what went down at the beach house.”

“I’d like to hear as well,” Pop spoke up. “If I’m going to get my daughter back, I need to know everything I can about this asshole.”

F
aith became aware of someone shaking her shoulder. She tried to open her eyes, but it hurt too much.

“Faith, Faith, baby, you have to wake up.”

The harsh whisper, urgent, roused her, and she pried her eyes open. She blinked when she saw her mother staring down at her.

“Mama?”

“Shhh,” Celia Martin said, placing a shaky finger over her lips. “He’ll be back any time. You have to be quiet.”

Faith tried to order her muddled thoughts, but she was having trouble focusing. When she tried to move her arms, she discovered she couldn’t even feel them. Same with her legs.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“I need to get you untied. Don’t move, okay?”

Faith nodded and winced as another excruciating bolt of pain seized her skull. As Celia fumbled with the knots at her wrists, Faith closed her eyes and tried to reassemble everything that had happened.

An ache grew in her chest, horrible and black as she remembered the gunshots. She saw Mick fall and then Gray. Betrayal. Grief. Confusion. Nothing made sense.

Hot tears leaked from her eyelids. Then the rope around her wrists loosened, and a thousand little needles attacked her as the blood started flowing again. She moaned in agony, and again Celia hurriedly shushed her.

A few minutes later, her legs were free, but she lay there, unable to move. Celia pulled at her arms and forced her into a sitting position.

“Listen to me, honey, you have to get out of here. He’s crazy. He’s going to kill you whether he gets the money or not.”

The stark fear in her mother’s voice roused her from her lethargy.

“Did you hear me, Faith? You’ve got to go now. He won’t leave you here alone for long. I’ll help you out the back way, and then you’ll have to run for help. I’ll stall him as long as I can.”

“You can’t stay here,” Faith whispered. “You have to come with me.”

Celia made a sound of impatience. “He won’t kill me. He needs me. But you have to go. I don’t have time to argue with you. Come on.”

Her mother’s urgency spurred Faith to action. She stood and wobbled as pain shot down her spine. Had he hit her? She had to think hard. The time after the beach house was one big blur. She remembered struggling, trying to escape. Then he’d struck her in the head with the butt of the gun.

She raised a hand to her head, and her fingers came away sticky with blood.

Celia pulled her out of the dark room. Where were they? It resembled some kind of vacant warehouse. Her mother paused at the doorway then pulled Faith into the large open area. The rough concrete abraded her bare feet as she stumbled along behind her mother.

When they reached the back, Celia opened a battered door and shoved Faith into the night.

“The alleyway leads out to a street. You have to go. He’ll be here any minute. I love you.”

With that, she shut the door, leaving Faith alone and shivering in the humid alleyway.

She clutched her arms around her midsection and started toward a distant streetlight. Dizzy, disoriented and in pain, she started to run, the memory of her captor shooting Mick and Gray vivid in her memory. He would kill her. Of that she had no doubt.

Her feet pounded the broken cement of the narrow alleyway. Trash, rotten food and God knew what else squished beneath her toes. She tripped as she neared the end and went sprawling. She cried out despite her best effort not to, but pain knifed through her body as she went crashing to the pavement.

In desperation, she dragged herself up and started running again. When she reached the end, she ran onto the street and looked left and right. God, it was empty. No cars, no lights other than what lined the street. It was an older section of town, and what businesses might be located on the street had long since closed for the day.

She chose a direction and ran. Her breath tore from her throat in painful bursts. Her surroundings blurred and passed with dizzying sickness. It felt as though someone had shoved a knife right through the back of her head.

One block. Two. She continued on until she feared passing out. When she’d gone approximately three blocks, she tripped again and went down, her hands flying out to break her fall. She landed face-first on the hard, broken street.

Tears flooded her eyes as she gasped for breath. Pain rendered her immobile. She couldn’t force herself back up. She struggled to her knees and looked down at her torn, bleeding palms.

As she glanced behind her, she was blinded by a bright light. She threw up her arm in a protective measure to shield her eyes as she tried to scramble up and flee.

“Ma’am, ma’am, are you okay?”

She strained to see who was talking to her. The light shifted, and she could see the outline of a man walking her way. She whimpered and threw herself the rest of the way up, prepared to run for her life.

“Houston Police. I’m here to offer assistance.”

She froze then looked down, and for the first time saw what he was seeing. Her clothes were torn and bloodied. Her hair hung around her face in disarray.

As he approached, he shone the light down and farther away from her. His expression was guarded, but he viewed her with concern.

“Ma’am, are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”

His voice was soft and reassuring, like he was afraid she’d run. His hand touched her shoulder, and a shudder worked through her.

He turned the light toward her face again, and she flinched away from the glare. “Ma’am, are you Faith Malone?” There was excitement in his voice.

“Y-yes.” Her voice cracked and she tried again. “Yes, I’m Faith Malone.”

“We’ve been looking for you. God almighty, how did you escape?” His voice was all business now, and he picked up the mic to his radio.

She listened as he excitedly called in their location and requested an ambulance. Then he turned his attention back to her.

“Ma’am, can you tell me what happened? How did you come to be out here?”

“He’s back there,” she croaked.

The policeman whirled around, drawing his weapon.

“At a warehouse,” she said. “We were at a warehouse. A few blocks back. My mother…she helped me escape. You have to go back for her. She’s in danger. He’s holding her too. She helped me.”

As she finished, she started to sink with exhaustion. The policeman caught her before she landed back on the street.

“Easy,” he murmured. “You’re going to be okay now. An ambulance is on the way.”

As he held her, he radioed for backup and relayed what Faith had told him about the warehouse and her mother. The rest was a dim blur. She was cognizant of his arms around her and the comforting words he murmured, but little else. She closed her eyes, wanting to escape her reality, even if for a little while. She heard the distant sound of sirens, and then she heard no more.