Page 79 of The Hitch
I'm a fucking prisoner.Beep beep.
Dante said he loves me?Beep beep beep beep beep.
Bridget scurries back in with concern across her face. "You miss me that much? I was gone for a second! Not even a minute! Deep breaths, okay?"
"No, no, I'm fine! I just… I was just thinking." I chew on my lip. "About my husband."
She raises an eyebrow and chuckles. "He must be hotter than hell to get you all worked up in a hospital bed. And he's not even here."
"You have no idea."
The Heir
Chapter 2 - Dante
Roman and I sit on a bench outside Saint Margaret's Hospital, staring up at the windows. I know what floor she's on. Hell, I know what room she's in. But it doesn't matter becauseI can't get to her. My hands curl into fists, and my nails dig little half-moons into my palms. Roman taps away on his phone, likely messaging with Helena.
A pang of guilt jolts through my gut; I haven't seen her in days. Not since we wrenched her out of police custody and promptly deposited her in the office of the most skilled therapist money can buy. She watched Melody murder someone. She witnessed Melody being beaten, beaten so badly that she lost our baby.
Grief ripples through me like a shockwave. Our baby. Our heir. Objectively, just a clump of cells. But the loss still hurts, nomatter how small. I don't get to comfort my wife. I don't get to hold her hand while she cries, I don't get to pull her in close and smell her hair while she clutches my chest.
I don't get to show her how much I fucking love her. All because of Ella. Thanks to Ella and the Seraph, the first time I told my wife I love her was in a goddamn jail. I told her I loved her when she was out of her mind, dying of sepsis, bleeding profusely.
None of the jail staff even noticed. Or maybe they did, and they didn't care. The justice system—I scoff, there's no justice in the system—has a deeply rooted hatred for women. The cruelty is ingrained in the processes, embedded in the protocol. And maybe I'm a piece of shit for not really, truly understanding it untilnow.
"Hey." Roman nudges me with his elbow. "I think that's her."
I look up from my clenched fists and spot a woman in bright pink scrubs leaning against the building, right next to the "No Smoking" sign. Finally, I crack a smile. Perfect.
Rising from the bench, I casually approach the woman. "Hello."
"Oh, shit!" She quickly stubs out her cigarette on the bricks. "You scared me. Uh, what can I do for you?"
"You can take a message to Melody." I lean in close and whisper, "Tell her that her husband is here. And he'll burn this godforsaken world to ash to get her back."
"You're Dante," she mumbles, flicking her gaze between my eyes. "Damn. I get it."
"What my associate means is," Roman sidles up to us and gives her a sheepish grin. "He misses and loves her very much. All the normal stuff. That was not an actionable threat, ma'am."
"Ma'am." She mocks his gravelly voice. "Yeah, sure. Wow, you two are actually perfect for each other. Let's try this with you, then. Well, I'd like to tell you that she's awake and recovering ata fantastic speed. I'd like to tell you that she misses you, too. I'd love to tell you that, but I can't. Hope you'll understand."
With that, she shoulders between us and quickly reenters the building, swiping her badge at the door. I turn to Roman with a glare. "I know you were not justflirtingwith a nurse while my wife convalesces handcuffed to a goddamn hospital bed."
"Flirting is a stretch, sir. I got the information without threatening a nurse." He schools his face into a neutral expression. "And, uh, I know I haven't said anything. But I am sorry for your loss."
My loss. Our loss. The loss of an heir, the concept that started… everything. Melody gave me my power, my position, my title. She gave me everything. And I gave her pain and trauma. I gave her a dead fetus. I got her mixed up in this fucked up world of mine. I don't know if she'll forgive me.
I don't know if Ideserveher forgiveness.
I sit in Mr. Vetter's office, fading in and out of clarity as he explains the evidence the DA provided for Melody's case. It seems like Ella's been busy, fabricating lies and planting Melody's prints everywhere she could. They even fished Frank's barrel out of the Delaware River. It's impressive. Or it would be, if it wasn't going to put my wife in prison for decades.
Another lawyer—I don't remember his name—says something about Illinois and extradition. We can petition against it, but it's not looking good. Exhaustion mixes with rage in my body, and I don't know what to do. All the money and influence in the world, but I can't keep my wife out of prison? I promised her safety. I promised her the world.
"Mr. Lyons?" Vetter reaches across the table. "Does the name 'Barry Lennox' mean anything to you?"
"What? No." Barry Lennox. Barry Lennox? Are they saying she killed him, too? "Who is that?"
"Barry Lennox went missing in the last, oh, six or seven months. His body was found in the Pine Barrens, out in New Jersey." Vetter points to a printed map. "There's CCTV footage of Melody acting, um, strangely towards a gas station attendant around the time they estimate his death."
