42
Eye for an Eye
DR. HARTT HAD PUT Blake in a medically induced coma, as even waking might be too much for his recovering system. He was moved to a private room, and Livia began a hospital vigil. No one mentioned payment or insurance, but Livia had a feeling Beckett would provide cash.
After three days, Blake was weaned off the drugs that kept him asleep. Told he could wake at any moment, everyone but Livia was concerned. They all found time to try to prepare Livia for the worst. Each time she would listen, thank them for their concerns, and turn back to Blake with a smile.
They couldn’t feel the tingling. But she could. Nurses Susan and Kim had arranged for Livia to stay in Blake’s room, and she left only when she felt Blake’s gentleman’s code would be compromised if she remained. During one of these brief moments, while Livia stood in the hall, her father decided to stop by.
“Hey, Liv. Kathy picked these out for you,” he said, handing her a bag of fresh clothes.
“Thanks, Dad.” Livia looked over her shoulder, but Susan was still fixing Blake’s bedding. How she changed the sheets with Blake still in the bed seemed like a magic trick.
“Well, your sister moved out,” her father began in a matter-of-fact tone. “She’ll probably be over to tell you all about it.” He shook his head in a constant “no” motion while delivering the news.
“Did you guys have a fight?” Livia had always been the filter for her sister’s impulses.
“Oh, no. She was busy rushing around sighing about the new holy boyfriend, saying things like ‘shadow’ and ‘my other self,’ yadda yadda. You know how I feel about living together before marriage.”
Livia sighed. If he only knew how wonderful it was for Kyle to be settling down.
“She’s going to be fine, Dad. Cole’s good for her.” Livia crossed her arms and looked again in Blake’s direction.
“There’s something else,” her father said, capturing her attention again. “Your friend Beckett? If he shows up, I need you to call me right away.” Livia watched as discomfort and resolve took their places on her father’s face.
“What happened?” Livia asked a little sharply. But she knew before her father told her.
“You got a lot going on here. We’ll talk about it later,” he said, backing away.
“Just tell me, Dad.” She gave him a pointed stare.
“Chris was murdered right in his hospital room. Beckett Taylor is wanted for questioning.”
Livia closed her eyes. Beckett.
“I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that,” Livia finally said. “I damn near did it myself. How are you so sure it wasn’t me?” Livia watched as her father smirked then looked solemn.
“The way Chris went? You could never do that—ever.” He shuddered.
Livia did feel sorry for Chris’s family—for the beautiful Mrs. Grandma. But she couldn’t muster any real regret for Chris’s demise.
Susan rolled a cart full of used linens past father and daughter. “Hey, Princess Charming, Sleeping Handsome is all yours.”
Livia was grateful. Her hand had started to ache, missing the tingle Blake’s skin provided. Her dad held his arms out for a hug, a new custom he’d adopted the night Blake was shot. Livia hugged him and returned to Blake’s side, the door closing softly behind her.
She arranged Blake’s hair so it looked more like it was supposed to, then pulled the now-familiar recliner over and held his hand. She’d put on her fresh clothes later. She focused on her favorite machine in the room: the one that kept track of Blake’s heartbeat. With slow breaths and concentration, Livia could make her heart beat in tandem with his.
Beckett sat in the hospital parking lot in a Lincoln he’d commandeered from one of his douchebags. Its windows were so black the car looked like a Matchbox toy. Behind them, Beckett’s eyes fixed on what he knew was Blake’s window. Whitebread was in there, waiting like the fucking pillar of strength she was. That little brunette had out-couraged pretty much every damn person he’d ever met—exactly what Blake needed.
Beckett’s gaze fell on the discarded scalpel on the floor of the car. It was covered in blood. He sat here at the scene of the crime like a first-time pussy, with the goddamn weapon right next to him.
When Eve had appeared at the hospital to tell him she’d killed the other assholes involved, Beckett had been relieved. And she’d been ready to finish the job. Eve wanted to eliminate Chris and keep Beckett’s hands clean. But Beckett wanted his hands dirty. He wanted to avenge his brother. Almost equal was his desire to protect sweet Whitebread. Eve was not pleased, but there was nothing she could do. She’d left to hide the corpses she’d created.
As he had strolled the hospital and broken into the cafeteria to get food for his people upstairs, Beckett had formed the weak outline of a plan. He knew he owned a few beat cops. Mouse always made sure to keep a selection on the payroll—at times it was truly the only way to stay out of jail.
Mouse. Beckett put his grief away.
He’d fed his people, and Livia had even convinced him to pray. But Beckett’s prayer had nothing to do with Cole’s mumbo jumbo and all the “ths” at the end of every other damn word. Beckett wanted one simple thing. A shot. A chance to kill the fuck out of Chris.
The next day they’d sent Kyle home, so Cole went back to his church and Livia followed Blake to his new room. Beckett said goodbye as if he were heading out, but instead did some stalking while flirting with the nurses. Over the next twenty-four hours, Beckett figured out their schedule, and he also scoped out Chris’s room—just one cop sitting outside his door. Guess they aren’t afraid of a double-kneecapped bitch running away.
When he spied O’Malley, one of the cops on his take, starting a shift in front of the bastard’s door the next day, Beckett grabbed the first weapon he could lay his hands on. He found a packet of shiny tools for surgery and ripped it open. The scalpel’s blade was sharp and very small. Perfect.
“Hey, O’Malley!” Beckett sauntered up to the uniformed officer.
They shook hands like friends, but the cop’s eyes clearly said, What the hell?
Beckett’s big smile never left his face as he issued orders. “Go get coffee for an hour. Then you can come back.”
O’Malley’s mouth opened, but nothing ever came out. He put his head down and walked quickly down the hall.
Beckett slipped into the room and let his eyes adjust to the dim light. Chris had cartoons on the TV like a dickless woman. He snored with his mouth open. Guaranteed, his IV was chock full of pain meds.
Beckett stood looming over Chris, letting the image of his brother’s chest being shocked in the night fill his mind. At his core, Beckett was a killer; no one could find mercy in him now.
A cracking punch on the bruise on Chris’s face was the patient’s good morning kiss. Chris woke, shaking like he was having a seizure. Beckett plunged the scalpel into Chris’s neck, slicing his vocal cords to keep him silent. After yanking the IV from Chris’s arm, Beckett let him know why he was visiting.
“Hey, fuck-a-doodle-doo! You soggy-ass pussy. You shot my brother in the back. Know what that means? You’re gonna die, bitch.” Beckett didn’t put on gloves; he wanted to feel the warm, sticky blood. “Let’s get started. Eye for an eye, they always say.” Beckett began carving as Chris’s mouth formed the circle of a noiseless scream.
Beckett looked away from the instrument on the floor of the Lincoln. Chris had died a horrific death, even by Beckett’s standards.
But his death didn’t give Beckett the peace he craved. Until Blake woke up and talked like a normal motherfucker, Beckett was going to want to puke. All the doctors and nurses assigned to Blake had that sad look in their eyes, like they were treating a damn dead dog or something. And he knew those bastards had seen shit like this before.
He guessed that was why he’d committed Chris’s murder like an amateur. Like a butt-munching serial jack-off. He’d left more DNA, proof, and motive in his wake than he could shake his dick at.
Eve was going to kill him.
And now he was back at the scene of the crime. His ass was getting stupider by the second. But he had to see Blake and bask in all the hope Whitebread tossed around like confetti.
“Fuck it, here I go.” Beckett squared his shoulders, walked in the front door, and continued on to Blake’s room without incident. He found Whitebread curled up in the chair like a cat, her hand touching Blake’s. She was sleeping, and Beckett had almost turned tail to leave her in peace when Blake’s eyes snapped open.
“The fuck!?” Beckett ran to Blake’s side as his brother’s face registered the room in panic.
Whitebread popped up and was almost nose-to-nose with Blake immediately. Beckett leaned around her and held his brother’s flailing arms.
Livia spoke in a soft, urgent voice. “Blake? They have you on a ventilator; this thing in your mouth needs to be removed by the doctor. Just calm down. Look, I’m here. I’m here. See? It’s okay. Just try to be calm.”
Whitebread stroked Blake’s cheek.
Beckett held his breath. Is this flailing, panicked dude the new Blake?