Forty

Joel

T he gun falls from my hand as she drops to the floor, what the fuck was she doing here? And now I can hear something else. A voice… Skip’s voice…

“Joel…? What the fuck…?”

“She wasn’t meant to be here…”

I turn my head for a second, to see Renard in a heap in the doorway. Skip must’ve taken him out, but right now I don’t give a fuck about him.

“You told me she knew what she had to do.”

“She wasn’t meant to be here…” I repeat, dropping to my knees, blood pooling around me, and I don’t know if it’s Renard’s or hers and I don’t know what the fuck to do next. It’s like I’m suddenly frozen, unable to move.

I look over at Skip, he’s on the phone, he’s making sure this mess is cleaned up… I can’t think straight, and I’m trying so hard not to let the fear spill out of me as I frantically try to find out if she’s still breathing: where the blood is coming from…

“You weren’t supposed to be fucking here, Ana…”

“Get her in the car,” Skip says, his voice calm, because someone needs to be. “Now, Joel!”

I gather her up in my arms and we leave through the back door, Skip first, he’s making sure nobody is watching. If anybody sees us…

“Wait a second.” Skip holds up a hand, his gaze focused on a man walking past, his head bent down over his phone.

“Come on, Skip,” I hiss as I cradle Ana’s limp body.

“Okay. Let me go first. Wait for my signal.” He walks out through the back gate and down the path, calmly but quickly, flinging open the back door of the car and signaling to me to run, which I do, as fast as I fucking can, Skip pulling away as soon as I close the door.

“What the fuck happened in there?” Skip asks as we drive away from the cul-de-sac, past a dark blue Kia going in the other direction, Skip nodding as we pass it. The cleaners are here.

“I don’t know. She wasn’t meant to be there.”

“So you keep saying.”

“This wasn’t my fucking fault, Skip!” I find a pulse, and it’s faint, but it’s enough to make me feel relief. “She’s still alive.”

Skip briefly glances back over his shoulder, and I can see the relief on his face, too. The realization that Ana nearly met the same fate as her mama, we’re both feeling that.

“We’ll take her to Mads. Try and avoid any hospital visits,” Skip says, pulling out his phone.

Mads Frederiksen. A doctor who’s been on the club’s payroll for over a decade and a man who’s saved many of us more than once.

“We can do without any extra heat on us.” Skip checks his watch. “We should be getting word back from Wade.”

The hit on the Blackhawks’ clubhouse is about to happen. And that is not going to go unnoticed. Unlike the execution of Emil Renard and Linus Bagdonas, an entire clubhouse being taken down in the middle of the day, that’s going to attract attention. And that attention is going to fall on us, so we need to make sure that’s the only shit we’re dealing with. We’re ready for that. What we’re not ready for are any curveballs. But I’ve just thrown one.

“Jesus, Ana, why the fuck can’t you just do as you’re fucking told…” I murmur under my breath as I stare down at her face, it’s like all the blood’s drained out of her, but she’s still warm. And all I can do is hold her close, we’re almost at Mads’.

“Where did you hit her?” Skip asks as we pull up to an unassuming, white-brick building next to a narrow alleyway.

“Her hip, I think. I’m not sure.”

“Where’s the fucking blood coming from, Joel!”

Skip’s voice is becoming more agitated, and it’s not helping. I fucked up, I get it, but it wasn’t my fucking fault.

I feel around Ana’s torso, and when I bring my hand up it’s covered in blood, and I feel a fresh wave of panic wash over me. “She’s bleeding from her waist. I must’ve nicked her side, I can’t tell exactly where from here.”

Skip swings right and drives a little way up the alleyway that’s only just wide enough to get the car through, stopping in front of a red front door with no number or markings of any description on it.

“Get her inside,” he instructs, opening the back door, and I tighten my grip on Ana as I climb out, the red door opening the second Skip slams the car door shut.

“Stay with me, Ana,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady as we run up a steep flight of stairs, the smell of antiseptic and bleach filling my nostrils, so strong it’s almost unbearable.

“Get her on the table,” Mads instructs as he ushers us into a bright white room with no windows and walls lined with metal shelving housing all kinds of medical equipment. In the center is a long, wide trolley, and I lay Ana down as gently as I can and take a reluctant step back while Skip explains everything to Mads.

“How long ago did it happen?” Mads asks as he pulls on latex gloves.

“About twenty minutes,” Skip replies, because I can’t. I’m too messed up, too worried. Too fucking scared. And then Skip’s phone indicates the arrival of a message, which he reads, and then he looks at me and gives me one quick nod. Just one. It’s done. And I breathe a sigh of relief that at least one job today went without a hitch. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Maybe it would be best if you both waited outside,” Mads says, without looking up. And I feel that wave of panic grow stronger as it threatens to engulf me. And I’m about to open my mouth to say something, but Skip shakes his head and guides me out onto the landing, closing the door behind him.

“What the fuck have I done?” I say, dragging a hand through my hair as I start pacing the floor. “I didn’t see her, Skip, I swear…”

“I know.” Skip’s calmer now. “I know. She wasn’t meant to be there, I get that, Jesus, that kid! We asked her to do one fucking thing…” He takes a deep breath, reaching for the packet of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. “Let’s just hope we got her here in time… Come on. Let’s take a minute.”

We go back downstairs, out into the alleyway, both of us lighting up, the hit of nicotine welcome.

“Shit!” I lean back against the wall, throw my head back and close my eyes. I’m taking that minute. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I…” I can’t say the words. I can’t say lose her , because I refuse to believe that that could happen.

“She’s going to be okay, Joel.”

He can’t be sure of that, he’s just telling me what I need to hear in an attempt to calm me down. And, okay, I’m starting to feel a little calmer now, or maybe it’s just resignation kicking in.

“She’s going to be okay,” Skip repeats, and I look at him, and his expression carries more than a hint of panic. He wants me to acknowledge what he’s saying, because if we both believe it then it might be true. “Jesus!” he sighs, throwing himself back against the wall and taking a long, deep drag on his cigarette. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down.”

He got that right.

“What if I can’t do it, Skip. What if I’m not good enough.”

Skip’s eyes narrow, his expression changing to something close to annoyance. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Being President of the Vikings. What if I’m just not cut out for it?”

“You pick your fucking times for a pity-party.” He looks away, glancing around him, taking rapid, successive drags, and his body language is all over the place. “If you don’t think you’re good enough, Joel, then walk away. Leave it alone.” Another drag. Another plume of smoke blown up into the air. “But you’re not that guy.” His eyes meet mine. “You aren’t that fucking guy,” he repeats, jabbing his cigarette in my direction. “You’re just feeling fucked up because of what’s happened.”

“One of us should be at the clubhouse. Rik’s going to be calling round any time now, once word of the hit on the Blackhawks gets out.”

“Wade can handle it.”

Neither of us want to leave Ana. But we know we can’t risk letting this entire operation run out of control.

“They aren’t going to find out about Renard and Bagdonas, that one’s off the radar. And we can handle the Hawks’ hit. Rik knows the score. Deep down, he knew something like this was coming.”

Rik’s paid to fire fight our shit, Skip’s right. But I still think one of us should be at the clubhouse. And it should be Skip. And he gets that, I can tell by the way his shoulders sag, his head falling back as he sighs.

“I’ll send someone over with a car.” He stubs his cigarette out on the wall behind him. “Keep your head down. And let me know what happens here.”

I nod and watch as Skip gets in the car and reverses slowly down the alleyway before driving off. I drop to my haunches, drop my head into my hands, and I take a breath. A deep one, exhaling slowly as I hear footsteps coming down the stairs; feel a hand on my shoulder.

“You’d better come inside, Joel.”