Page 58 of Parrish

“You forced my hand, Mr. Parrish,” Ritzer says cockily.

My lips part to argue with him but I’m distracted by Blackie as he turns to Lacey and places a hand over her flat stomach.

“Dominic Petra,” Ritzer calls, keeping his eyes on me. Refusing to look at him, I keep my gaze pinned on Black and watch as a small smile creeps across his face. With one hand on my daughter’s belly, he brings the other to his back and it finally clicks.

“No,” I grunt, meeting Ritzer’s gaze. “Black, stand down.”

“Dominic Petra, you are under arrest,” Ritzer continues, rattling off a list of charges as one of the police officer’s peels Blackie’s hand from Lacey’s belly. He slaps one silver cuff around his wrist and then the other. My eyes move to Lacey as she stares at her husband in shock. The motherfucker not only is charging him with possession of an illegal firearm but also the death of the paramedic and the disappearance of the one we buried.

“It’s okay, Lace,” Blackie whispers. “It’s better this way.”

“No, stop this,” she shrieks, reaching for his kutte. “You can’t go to prison. Not again. Not now.”

Reaching for my daughter, I pull her against my front and stare into Blackie’s soulless eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss.

“Taking my place as your right,” he says simply. The cop tightens the cuffs around his wrists and Blackie flinches through the pain as he squares his shoulders back. Gritting his teeth, I watch him close his eyes for a moment before opening them and peering at Lacey.

“I love you,” he breathes.

“Don’t do this,” she begs. “Please, Blackie, don’t do this to us.”

His eyes slice back to mine as the cop forcefully tugs on his wrists.

“I got this, Parrish,” he swears after a moment. “You take it from here.” Lost for words, I shake my head and force a swallow. I don’t know how to take it from here. Not this time.

“You’re just going to let them take him? Dad, do something!” Lacey pleads with tears streaming down her face. Remaining silent, I give her shoulder a squeeze and watch as they whisk Blackie down the hallway.

“Blackie!” Lacey cries, trying to break out of my arms.

It’s the language of brothers.

“I can’t believe you’re allowing this,” she shrieks, pulling away from me.

A language my daughter will never understand.

Blackie disappears through the doors and Lacey turns to me.

“What has he done?”

My eyes meet hers and I school her on the language she doesn’t speak.

“He’s unleashed the Bulldog.”

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