Page 34 of Freeing Denver
The doctor said this would happen. He said to expect the pain, the anxiety, the agitation. I’m a patient man, I’ve had to be, so this …urgeto snap isn’t something I’m familiar with. Sweat coats my brow, and I take out the bottle of pills from my pocket, throwing two back.
I took two an hour ago.
Shouldn’t they have started working by now?
Fucking hell, I’ve been shot before. Stabbed. But this pain … it radiates through my head, like a hammer against my skull, a constant fucking knocking?—
“You good?”
I blink, glancing over at Alistair. “I’m fine.”
He steps into the shade of the church. “Maybe we should call it a day.”
“I’m fine, Alistair.”
“No one expects you to?—”
“Alistair.” I curl my shaking hands into fists and take a breath. “Just drop it. I’m fine. I’m not leaving.”
He gets closer. “Don’t bite my head off, but you woke up from a coma days ago. You’ve said your goodbyes. Go home. This day is hard enough for you; your pain makes it harder.”
“Why are you acting like you know how this feels?”
I regret it the moment the words leave my mouth. I’ve snapped before—it’s rare, but I’m only human—but I’ve never said something so cruel. My common sense wars with the pain, but even though I know I should take it back, I don’t.
Alistair shakes his head and looks away. “Wilder was my brother, too.”
“So we’re brothers now? That’s convenient, given that when I was out of action and needed you, you made Denver’s life hell.”
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I being such a dick?
Why aren’t these fucking pills working?
“I told you, I had to be hard on her?—”
“You have said that, but you haven’t said why,” I challenge, and he turns to leave. “Don’t walk away when I’m fucking talking to you, Alistair. Remember your place.”
My friend skids to a stop.
My friend.
He’s my friend.
Why am I treating him like an enemy?
He turns, and the throbbing in my head pulses down my neck. I’m tired. I’m so damn tired.
“I was hard on her because no one else is,” he says, an edge in his tone that doesn’t help to calm me. “Everyone lets her run around as if she has any idea what she’s doing. She doesn’t. She’s impulsive, and honestly, Colt? She’s fucking dangerous.”
“How in the hell is she?—”
“She killed Vince Capelli. You asked if he was taken care of. He was. Denver gained his trust, he invited her to his house, and she slit his throat.” The throbbing increases, the pressure behind my eyes almost unbearable. “I thought maybe she was exaggerating, but I got the security footage from Vince’s bedroom. I’ve seen the whole fucking thing.”
“Why thefuckdidn’t you tell me?”
“Because you have enough on your plate, and surprisingly, her murder spree is low on our list of problems.”
I stare at him, my breathing quick. “She hid it from you.”
