35. The Boy Who Loved Me

35

THE BOY WHO LOVED ME

OLIVER

Have you ever seen the devastation left in the wake of a tornado firsthand?

As a Florida native, I've seen the aftermath of storms of that magnitude with my own eyes. But that didn't prepare me for watching my world crumble in front of me.

There's no footage in the world that can capture how numbing it is to see a storm with that kind of havoc roll through. Somehow, witnessing this … pandemonium is rawer in person.

If this is hell, the Devil was kind enough to lay out a welcome mat.

Our world has been shaken, upheaved, obliterated. Nothing but chaos and heartache are left. The debris of our manicured lives lay in a heap of devastation at our feet, and Caddell is to blame. He's the storm. A rotating wind that has demolished us with one pull of his trigger.

Several things happen at once. It's hard to know what to do or where I'm needed through the persistent shouting. Through the commotion, my eyes dart to Sophia. In a quick assessment from her toes upward, I sigh a breath of relief, knowing that she doesn't seem to be injured. Her glossy gaze is focused on Cannon as her tears fall in streams. The battle wounds that aren't visible will haunt her for years.

"Cannon!" Anguished isn't strong enough of a word for the gut-wrenching way Sophia screams out his name.

In a mixture of Italian and English, Mazen's voice barrels around the chaos, wreaking its own havoc. "Fuck!"

I force myself to look at Cannon's body. He's lying flat on his back, blood pouring from his wound. His massive body looks puny, his injury ghastly. His blond hair is disheveled, several locks lying over his closed eyelids. I know enough to know that's not a good sign. Murphy is pressing, pushing down hard on his lower abdomen to stop the bleeding inflicted by the second bullet that hit him.

"We have to stop it." Murphy moves quickly to yank off his shirt.

Vanna scoops Cannon's head in her small hands, placing it in her lap. She's gently pushing damp pieces of hair off his forehead with one hand, the other is lightly smacking his cheek. "Wake up. Let me see your eyes." There's an eerie calmness to her voice that makes me think she was an army medic in a former life. Her eyes tell a different story than her composed voice and movements. Tears spill over her cheeks like a dam has broken.

Ashton and his second, Preston, barge forward as if they were Greek soldiers, ready to fight to the death. I've never been more thankful for reincarnation in my entire miserable existence. I'm not as lucky. This life has been my only one. There's no fight-or-flight instincts that kick in, urging me to do something. Fucking anything. Nope. The soles of my shoes are glued in place. I couldn't pick my feet up to move if I tried.

I'm utterly useless. Frozen in fear of losing everyone I love. Just like when I was a boy. Abandoned by those who were meant to love me and protect me unconditionally.

It should have been me. I'm the incompetent one. I should be the one lying there. At least then, Cannon could be useful in saving our girl.

I should've charged forward, blocking his body with my own. I should've had the courage to step in front of a loaded gun for the man I love. I should've, and I didn't fucking budge to protect the boy who had befriended me when I had nothing more than the raggedy clothes on my back. The boy whose family fed me and got me my first bicycle. The boy who loved me when I didn't even love myself. The boy I denied who never stopped loving me well into adulthood. The man who selflessly walked toward another with a loaded gun pointed at him to save the girl he loves, our girl.

Another shot rings loudly, jarring my thoughts from the pity party of one commencing in my thick skull.

Knox's body falls into a heap on the ground, and his hands move frantically, landing on his stomach. No one moves to aid him in stopping the bleeding. Not even his uncle, who looks like he's about to combust from fury as he yanks Soph into his embrace forcefully.

"It had to be done," Ashton calls out, his tone absent of remorse.

Protecting us, doing his job, just made him a murderer.

"Stay in the fucking car." Caddell's voice draws attention to the open door of the vehicle he's standing close to. "Unless you want more blood to spill."

Mazen shouts through the uproar that's playing out in front of us, his jaw trembling. "Dad?" he calls out, certain that it's his father in the back seat. We know Caddell took both him and Vanna. "Dad!"

I've never seen him appear so childlike in our entire friendship. Lorenzo used to beat the shit out of him for what seemed like sport, and Mazen never cried. He never vented to us about it or asked for help. He took every blow willingly, allowing his father's pain to have an outlet. The relief Lorenzo chased from unleashing his own pain onto his son, in an effort to eradicate his own internal demons, was a secret to society. To everyone but us. For years, Mazen accepted every hit, allowing his father's pain to seep into his own pores until, one day, Mazen's anger grew so large, something snapped, and he started to fight back.

The version of Mazen calling out to his father reminds me of the boy I met before aggression and anger plagued him.

Sure enough, Lorenzo Wilde climbs out of the back seat of the vehicle to Caddell's left. The left side of his face appears to be black and blue. There's blood on the white undershirt that covers his chest. Thick black brows furrow when he assesses the scene in front of him.

"I never wanted this." His attention lands on Julian Caddell. Wrath as tangible as the moans pouring from Knox's mouth broadens his shoulders.

"You wanted to ruin Mazen's empire. Did you not?" This question comes from Caddell.

"We both know damn well ruining something and murdering innocent people are two very different things."

Caddell is quick to respond, "Not in my world."

Black dress shoes hit the pavement, spanning the gap between Lorenzo and Caddell.

Soph is smart enough to use the split second Caddell's grasp loosens on her arm to run past me and into Mazen's awaiting arms. I turn quickly to see him sliding her petite body behind his own. I imagine him having an older brother or Cannon around to do the same for him when he was a child, running from his father. I wonder if things would have been different. If the man he grew into wouldn't have been so damaged by the monster who raised him.

"This won't end well," Caddell seethes.

Lorenzo's Italian accent is thick when his eyes flash in outrage. "This ends now. I already told you, I'll cut you a check for Ms. Lozier's debt. Take your nephew to get medical attention. He's bleeding out. We'll take Mazen's friend. No one else needs to get hurt. No one needs to die tonight."

"Want to talk about being hurt?" Caddell moves his gun like a pointer finger. It lands on Mazen and the fiery redheaded woman we love nestled behind him. "Her father betrayed me. Talk about blindsided. He's a piece-of-shit thief. She's just like him. You wanted dirt. I gave it to you on a silver platter. You fault me for being a businessman, trying to collect what I'm owed. Ask her why she stole all those years away from Mazen. He could have known the truth long before you asked for my involvement."

"This isn't about being paid back. It's about your sick and twisted way to inflict revenge for something that woman did not do," Lorenzo counters in breathless hostility. "You can't punish her for the sins of her father."

"That's rich coming from you. Do you think growing a backbone overnight is going to win you Father of the Year?" Caddell spits out condescendingly.

The scene unfolding in front of me plays out in slow motion. All the while, the man I've loved in silence is bleeding onto the concrete .

Feeling weak, vulnerable, I lash out. "Enough of this bullshit. People are dying!"

"Let them die then. You're the ones who brought this on yourselves. You wanted me here. Well, here I am, in the flesh, and I'm not leaving until that bitch pays her debt or suffers. Just like the headache she and her family have caused me and my organization. Do you know how many resources it takes to find someone who doesn't want to be found?"

"You idiot!" Sophia yells, interrupting Julian Caddell as she fights against Mazen's arms.

He's desperately trying to keep her caged in behind his back. Red hair flies in the night breeze.

"We had a deal. I get paid next week, which means you get paid. You're nothing more than a greedy piece of shit." Anger hardens her features and her voice. "Look what your impatience has caused. Your nephew is dying. Are you just going to let him lie there, bleeding out just to prove a point?"

The look Caddell offers is a mixture of exasperation, faint amusement, and something else entirely too sinister to name. "You want me to prove a point?"

The barrel of his gun turns, along with his neck. Horror plagues my vision, my thoughts. It takes the very breath out of my lungs.

Less than a second later, his point is made when he fires a round directly into the center of Lorenzo Wilde's chest.

Mazen's gravelly accent is etched deeply in the four-letter word as he shouts, "Papa!"

Lorenzo crashes to the ground, adding to the bloodshed.

In a swift movement, Ashton's black-clad figure is raising his hand, ready to end this charade, fighting fire with fire.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

My ears ring for a deafening moment, following the spray of bullets from his handgun.

A bullet pierces Caddell above the eyebrow with a precision I wouldn't expect from a contracted security guard, and the once-tough, sinewy man falls into a heap beside his nephew.

Everyone is still, standing motionless in silence for a few beats of utter disbelief.

I'm overcome with emotion as thick as honey in my throat. At least my neck works , I think as my head swivels to glance over to Murphy, who is still applying pressure to Cannon's wound. Disoriented, I turn to look at Mazen and Sophia. I'm assessing everyone I care about.

He's pushing Soph into Preston's arms, murmuring something before giving a begrudging nod. Preston is the last person who'd get my vote to ensure her safety. She wouldn't be here, witnessing this madness if it wasn't for our second-rate security guard.

I have half a mind to call up our manager and ask if they got him on discount from mall security.

With wide steps, Mazen is rushing toward his father's folded body. Raw anguish is sprawled against his dark features. It's hard to miss the unmistakable look of despair when he reaches Lorenzo. He crouches down and grabs both sides of his father's face, forcing their eyes to meet for the last time.

"Don't die, Papa. I already lost Bethany. I can't lose you too. I won't survive losing anyone else."

"You're not losing me, son. I won't be far."

Sirens sound in the distance.

Thank God. Cannon needs help now.

Over the noise, I hear Lorenzo's voice gurgling. Blood oozes out the side of his parted mouth, but he musters up enough energy to say, "I love you, Mazen. I'm going to see your sister and meet my grandson."

"How … how do you know about him?" Mazen's eyes shoot up in surprise.

On the verge of losing consciousness, he closes his eyes. His body uses every bit of energy as he answers his son, "Cad-dell … told me … to-day. Proud of … you … so—"

Mazen chokes back a sob. Another sight that will forever be ingrained in my memory. "Just breathe. Save your energy. The ambulances have to be close."

"No time," his father whispers.

"Papa." Mazen holds his father's cheeks, craning his neck until their noses are almost brushing. "Promise me you'll keep Roman company until I can meet him."

The last words Lorenzo Wilde speaks are a vow I know he will keep. " Prometto ." Promise.