Brawler (35 page)

“Fuck, Princess —” I try.

“Jonas,” she says quietly. “I’ve waited my whole life for you. Never has anyone loved me like you do, and no one will ever love you like I do. I don’t look at dropping the program as giving anything up. I dropped the program because I have two things that are more important now. You,” I say, taking his hands to my belly, “and this baby, which by the way is going to be the raddest kid ever birthed.”

“I put my hands on him —”

“If anyone had said those things to me, I’d have done the same thing.”

“You’re not pissed?”

“Pissed?” she asks, confused. “About Ben? No. You thought I’d be pissed?”

“Well, yeah —”

“You are a little slow on the uptake, Captain,” she says, laughing “I’m not pissed. He fucking deserved it. By the way, we deserve each other. Fuck Ben and anyone else who doesn’t get it. Now, don’t we have someplace to be?”

Puling her down to kiss and touch her, I whisper, “I love you.” To which she squeezes me and tells me she loves me too. I’d like to say she absolved me of all guilt, but that would be a lie. I will say she absolved me of most of it.

A
fter my verbal thrown-down, Jonas seems to be in better spirits, thank god. Seeing him like that sucked. I know what doubt feels like, and I don’t want the man I love being plagued with it. He’s had enough people in his past knock him down; I just wish I was around back around then so I could have protected him. So once that is settled, we dress, I chuck, then we brush our teeth and we leave for Lush.

Luckily the nausea is less and less, but seriously, if I never see a toilet bowl again, it will be too soon. Parking out front we head in, tossing the keys to valet and finding our reserved table. Waving hi to Max, we sit. Jonas grabs a water while I do the usual Vernor’s. Oh, and when the chucking stops, so does the ginger ale. I’m so over that fizzy shit.

Venessa waves while she sets up, and Rogan as usual has her back. I spot Jules waving her over and we start talking about her next job. Miguel gets Jonas’ attention so while he catches up with him, I catch up with Jules. Asking her about Max, she gets tense. I’m not sure what happened there. Whatever it was is bothering her, but clearly I won’t get any answers here. Max approaches the table and Jules looks ready to bolt. “Stay?” I ask her, and rolling her eyes she sits back down.

“Rafe asked me to keep an eye on you while he talks with Miguel. You need anything?” he asks.

“You got stuck with babysitting duty?” I ask. “I’m sorry, Max.”

“Any excuse to sit and talk to you isn’t considered a duty, Macy. You know that,” he says, trying to avoid the dirty looks he’s getting from Jules. “How’s the baby?”

“Good,” I tell him, but he’s distracted, and so is Jules. I can tell they want to be alone to talk, so letting them know I need to pee isn’t really an excuse because it’s true, I totally have to pee. “I need to hit the bathroom, another joy of pregnancy, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” says Max “I’ll go with you, Jonas doesn’t want me to —”

“She’ll be fine in the bathroom, Max, Jesus,” says Jules, using a tone I’ve never heard before. “I’m getting ready to go, we need to talk.”

He’s looking back and forth between us and I see he’s torn, so I help him out of a bind because I really do have to pee. “Max, I’ll be quick,” I tell him. “I promise. You guys talk, okay?”

“Max,” says Jules, helping me out. “I’m walking out that door when she comes back, so let’s finish this.”

He looks miserable, but he nods. One to me, letting me know it’s safe to pee, and one to Jules letting her know she has his attention. Heading to the bathroom I immediately hear Max start yelling. I don’t turn around because if I don’t pee I’m going to explode. Besides if anyone can handle herself, it’s Jules. If she’s pissed at Max for something, she would only do so with good reason.

Turning the corner, I open the door, run to the third stall, drop my pants, and practically moan when I start to go. Peeing shouldn’t feel so damn good. In fact, it’s one of my new favorite things. Finishing up, I head to the sinks to wash my hands. Before I reach the door I feel my phone vibrate. Taking it out of my pocket I see it’s a text from Ben with a simple ‘I’m sorry.” What the fuck ever.

Hearing the door open but thinking of a response to send back, it’s when I feel someone in my space I mutter an “Excuse me,” but when she doesn’t move I look up seeing she isn’t a she at all. It’s the number three thug from outside the lab and he’s looking at me with that weird smirk again. Before I can back up, throw a punch, or scream he plunges a hypodermic into my neck and, that was all she wrote.

All I could think of as my eyes started to close and my hands went to my belly was,
not again
.

M
iguel liked to talk a lot.

He also had some decent intel. Turns out as soon as Macy cleared out her station at the lab later that night someone broke in trashing the place, specifically tearing apart her station. I asked him to check her place tonight after he gets off work. The threat is still present, as I suspected it would be. What we didn’t know was if it was good news that they think the information is stored on a computer or they figured out by now that she kept it in her head.

Miguel tells Rogan and me word on the street is missing girls are piling up again; turns out the four we’re interested in was just the tip of the fucking berg. Looking over to her table I see Max yelling at Jules, and I see Jules trying not to attack Max. What I didn’t see is my wife.

Ignoring Miguel, I leave him to Rogan and double-time it over.

“Where the fuck is my wife?” I demand, interrupting them.

“She went to the bathroom,” he says.

“I told you to watch her,” I growl. “How long has she been gone?”

“A couple of minutes,” he says. “I’ve been watching the hall.”

“She’s only been gone a minute or two, Rafe,” says Jules, looking defeated.

“Remind me to return the fucking favor someday,” I say, storming off.

I jog to the hall, turn the corner push the door open, and I see her phone on the floor next to the garbage can. Kicking each door open I beg whoever is listening to please let her be in one these stalls. When I kick the last one open I know the answer without looking. Letting out an unholy roar, I stumble trying to grab her phone; running back out to the bar I ignore Max, needing to get to Rogan.

The second I approach I see his face go hard. He knows just by looking at me.

“We’ll fucking find her,” he says just as Venessa runs up and grabs onto him.

“I’ll kill anyone who dares to touch her, I need my wife, partner.”

“I know,” he says. “We’ll track her.”

“Promise me, promise me I’ll get my wife back.”

For the first time ever, he grabs me by the back of the neck, pulls me to him, and looks me in the eyes. “I promise, partner, now check those feeds,” he says, and then we plan.

Seven days later…

N
ever in my life did I make a promise I didn’t plan on keeping. I’d never say it out loud, but I ain’t got a good feeling about this. Rafe is so fucking gone that Angel and me had to move in to keep him from losing his shit. He don’t eat, he don’t sleep, he don’t fucking talk. Venessa is barely keeping together, and without Jules and Max making appearances, I think she’d go on a killing spree too. The Captain’s got nothing, the street’s got nothing, and goddammit, I got nothing.

Rafe is completely shut down. He sits there talking to himself; sometimes he even carries on conversations with Macy like she’s in the room. This morning Venessa came to me and asked to call Tony for help. If there was ever a time we needed that fucker, it’s now, but I had to lie to her as to why we couldn’t call him. I’d like to think she bought it, but I’d be lying about that, too.

When Venessa went rogue to take down Gary and get Macy back, we all thought her actions extreme. Me, I thought I’d lose her forever when in reality she was gone for under an hour. If I were in Rafe’s shoes I think I’d either be dead, insane, or in prison by now. Rafe told me about the tracker in Macy’s phone but the problem is, we have the phone. Another problem is the lab is closed, Ben ain’t answering his phone, and the surveillance tapes from Lush show the back of a guy’s head carrying out an unconscious Macy. When Rafe saw that tape, it took four of us hours to calm him down.

Max is slowly killing himself with guilt, but for whatever reason Jules seems able to calm him. Rafe is my partner and best friend. He loves his wife like I love my angel. I get how he feels. I had to suffer a short time compared to what he’s going through. It’s not just his wife we’re dealing with, it’s also his kid. The kid he’s waited his whole life for.

Looking over at Rafe sitting alone on his couch holding a bear in his hands like it’s his last link to sanity was the last straw. He watches Sleeping Beauty and Pocahontas over and over, and if you accidently block his line of vision he flips out. I don’t get it, but I don’t think I’m supposed to. Something’s gotta happen now. It’s time to tear the fucking city apart.

It’s time to get my partner back with his family or die tryin’.

S
even days of hell.

Wondering if she’s hurt, is she crying, is she eating, is she scared? I’ve got the usual suspects here on suicide watch thinking I’m about to do something stupid, which would be a fair statement. At first I had hoped tearing Max apart would make this pain ease up, but it didn’t. He’s in pain, too. It’s not his fault; I get it now. Venessa is a mess, but she does her best to comfort me, and is like a viper if anyone tries to push me. Since no one wants to fuck with her I’m pretty much left alone.

Rogan as usual is my fucking rock. He doesn’t even have to say anything; just being here helps some. He feels helpless, which is a feeling neither of us do well with. Looking back I should have been more sympathetic when he was dealing with his shit, but I wasn’t because I didn’t get it then. I fucking get it now. Yeah, I’m lost. Thing is, my wife is fucking tough. I know she is. But she’s going to do everything she can to protect our kid, and that scares me, because she’ll cross lines to do it.