Page 80 of Reckless Woman
Chapter Twenty-Two
Joseph
They say we spend our whole lives unintentionally filtering out sounds and voices.
It’s called auditory selective attention, and to me, it’s the stupidest thing our bodies can do. Words are knowledge, and knowledge is power.
Bitches bitch.
The boastful claim.
And the indiscreet? Well, they’re just fucking careless.
After I was rescued from the Little Family Farm of Horrors—after I superimposed myself onto the body of a tin soldier—I made up for my lack of words by listening in on every conversation I came across. It’s the only thing that kept me rooted to a world that was trying so hard to push me out.
Not today.
There are no sounds and voices to filter, in or out.
I’m slumped against a wall in an empty hospital hallway that’s the same stale blue color as my disbelief, covered in my wife’s blood, and staring at two operating room doors that refuse to open. They’re a ten-foot barrier holding all the important questions and answers hostage. They’re the mean kid in school who is refusing to share his best fucking toy with me.
It’s been eight hours.
Eight hours since she died in my arms.
That beautiful, uncaged heart stopped for a whole minute, but they managed to bring it back to life again in the ambulance. Her vitals were all over the place when she was wheeled into the Emergency Room.
Since then, no one’s talking.
No one’s reassuring.
All I have is silence, and it’s the loudest noise of all. It’s the kind of space that gets filled with the voices in your head, the ones shouting about fear and dissent like a red-faced politician on a campaign trail. When he’s done kissing babies, he’ll let you know all about the nasty, unmentionable shit that’s happening to your wife right now.
Thoseare the sounds and voices I’d tune out if I could.
Cash isn’t saying a whole lot today. The dead respect the dying. He’s leaning against the wall opposite, flouting hospital policy and lighting up smoke after smoke, the same way I’m aching to do.
I know what he’s thinking, though.
He told me I’d kill her eventually. I may not have pulled the trigger, but the man I am,the man I’ve become, damn well shoved her in front of those bullets. What good is a shadow, when he can’t block other darkness’s out?
A door swings open behind me. It’s not the right one, so I don’t bother turning around. There are sharp footsteps, and then a familiar voice is calling my name.
“Grayson.”
Dante doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to. Just him being here speaks volumes. He must have boarded a jet the minute he heard the news.
We’ve never embraced before, but I feel a heavy hand on the back of my head, and then I’m being pitched sideways into his shoulder. It lasts for a second, but it’s enough to tell me that this monster I’ve worked for all these years shares this agony with me. He’ll live and die to bring me justice. He’s not going to rest until it’s hand-delivered and buried in a shallow grave.
Releasing me, he crosses the hallway and starts looking for security cameras.
“Over by the restroom,” I say tonelessly, returning my gaze to the closed doors. “The team have already taken care of it.”
His cell beeps, the sharp noise echoing in this hallway of nightmares.
“Roman is all over this,” he informs me, glancing at it. “He’s changed Anna’s surname to Grayson, and he’s given her a new social security and identity.”
“What about us?”