Rogue (Real #4)(82)

You still pray because Zero has no power here. Your money holds no sway here. Nothing counts except your will, and you can do nothing except pray, please, not her.

But it is her.

The doctors walked out to speak to me. To let me know the news.

She’s in a coma.

She’s barely breathing on her own.

She’s somewhere far away where I don’t exist, where I can’t get her, can’t protect her. And I still see her, feel her, hear her. Need her. LOVE THE DAYLIGHTS OUT OF HER.

She never knew that I did.

Hell, I didn’t know.

Neither of us knew.

I brush my arm over my eyes when they keep burning, then stare at the text message from C.C. I got several minutes ago, numb to what it says.

Your father just passed.

Without a word, I stand and go stare through the window at her, my one and only princess, then I head down the hall to plan my father’s funeral.

? ? ?

“CONGRATULATIONS, Z.”

“Congratulations, Z!”

“Zero, congratulations!”

I scowl when we reach the compound the day after my father’s funeral, watching Eric cautiously approach with a large, closed steel box.

“What’s this?” I ask. I’m not only thrown by the reception of the team, but by the items he’s holding outstretched in his hands.

“Everything, Greyson. Ownership to the Underground. Something that belonged to your mother. And this.”

I’m confused as he hands me an envelope, but then my mind is worth shit now. I’m worth shit. I feel like roadkill. I haven’t eaten in forty hours. Haven’t slept. Haven’t taken a bath.

“I didn’t finish the list, Eric,” I feel obligated to specify.

“Yes you did. By the time your father died, every last name on the list was accounted and paid for.”

“Not Melanie . . .”

“Her friend brought in her payment for her.”

He pulls out the necklace from his pocket, and I almost unravel at the sight of the familiar jewels, sparkling like mad.

The diamonds glitter, and I touch the necklace she used to wear on her neck.

Memories assault me. Melanie asking what list would this be? Melanie wanting to go inside my steel room. Melanie cooking for me. Melanie Melanie Melanie. I want to see her eyes sparkling bright. I want to see her eyes open and LOOK THE FUCK AT ME LIKE SHE ALWAYS DOES! With life. Like I’m her god. Like I’m her guy.

Princess, do you realize what this means? I want to tell her as I take her necklace in my hands and stare at it while I feel poleaxed in the gut, chainsawed in my chest. You saved me, baby. You f*cking saved me. I can find my mother now.

But there’s no joy in my heart, not even at this news. There will never be joy in my heart if those green eyes don’t f*cking open and see me. Please just see me if only to tell me what a f*cking * she thinks I am. Tell me I’m the reason she’s like this right now.

“So this is it? This is where she is?” I ask Eric as I look down at the sealed envelope, my voice rough with the emotions I’m trying hard to keep concealed.

He nods toward that envelope. The one containing the information I’ve waited over a decade for. Things claw and knife at me as I grab the note and tear it open. I’ve waited thirteen years for this. Thirteen. I have done unspeakable things for this, for her. To find her. Try to protect her.

Pulling out the paper, I read the address written down in my father’s handwriting, and that’s when it hits me. Like a torpedo slamming into me, it hits me.

My mother is in a cemetery.

I stand there, absorbing it without swaying, without even a muscle in me twitching. I’m motionless, while at the same time, there’s a nuclear destruction within me. Here it is. The answer to why I could never find her.

My mother. Is dead.

The death certificate is dated several years ago. Around the time I left the Underground to look for her. She was on an island, a private island. That’s where she died. Natural causes, the autopsy reads. My mother died, alone, on some sort of secret island that will now belong to me.

My mother is dead.

My father is dead.

And my girlfriend is . . .

The thought of her in that hospital bed sends a fulminating, raging pain through me. The way I found her, unconscious, her skull banged, bleeding to death, her body small and pale and lifeless.

MY. FUCKING. GIRL.

Barely a pulse beating in her throat.

Pale and motionless on the ground when all I wanted was to lift her in my arms.

I stalk toward the bar and yell as I slam my fist into the wall.

? ? ?

I WAKE UP to an eerie silence and dozens of bottles are scattered across the floor. This shithole can’t be my room. The f*cking mess can’t be where I slept.

I groan as I push myself up and the pounding in my head rolls to expand across my entire skull. I blink and take in my surroundings while instinctively pulling out my gun from under my pillow. I cock it as I stand and kick aside a fallen pillow. The place looks destroyed, like some motherf*cker didn’t have the intention of anything in here surviving.

“You alive, man?”

I groan and tuck my gun back as I spot C.C. Apparently one thing survived, the one the motherf*cker didn’t want to: me.

“You have anything else to break in here?” he asks me.