Echo (Black Lotus #2)(19)

I scoop up another handful and pack it against my wound, and once my body stops quaking and numbs, I slip into my car and drive back.



“WHAT HAPPENED?” ISLA questions urgently as I’m walking up the stairs.

“Excuse me?” I respond when I turn around.

Coming up the steps, she looks worried. “There’s blood all over your back, lassie.”

“Oh, I . . . ”

“What’s going on? Are you hurting yourself?”

“No,” I quickly blurt out.

“Do you need to call someone? The police?”

“No. No, I’m fine,” I defend. “It’s fine.”

Her eyes narrow in annoyance as I avoid her questioning.

“It’s not fine. Now you tell me what’s going on or I’ll call the police myself.”

“No police. Please,” I tell her, and decide to just lie. “It was a clumsy accident. I slipped on some ice and hit my head as I fell.”

She gives me a suspicious look before nodding. “You should get yourself checked out by a doctor.”

“If it starts to bother me, I will. It looks much worse than it is,” I try assuring her.

Once I’m in my room, I head into the bathroom to check out the damage. The blood mats my hair, and the strands are dried to the wound. I peel some of the hair away, and it rips the forming scab causing my head to bleed again. I know I could wet a towel and clean myself up, but I relish the pain. It distracts and takes away from my annihilated heart.

The misery inside of me swells and grows, so I continue ripping the scab apart, pulling my hair, and focusing on that pain instead of my internal pain. I can’t release it, but I can mask it, and so I do. When I feel the heat of blood seeping out, there’s a release of euphoria that delights me. I savor this momentary distraction and enjoy the blood tickling my skin as it rolls down my neck. It’s all I focus on as I sigh in relief and close my eyes.





“DON’T FUCK AROUND, inmate. Five minutes,” the guard I paid off barks as he shoves the disposable cell phone against my chest.

“I need the card.”

“I already programmed the number in the phone,” he tells me and then hands me a small, folded up piece of scrap paper. “The verification code.”

I nod and he scowls in return. “Make it quick.”

Punching in the numbers, I don’t have to wait long for the call to go through.

“Hello?” my longtime friend answers. The one I planted in my son’s life to ensure I have all my bases covered. A man who presents himself as a loyal entity to Declan, but whose loyalties de facto lie with me.

“I don’t have long,” I say.

“How the hell are you calling me? I heard you were locked up.”

I was arrested before I could make contact with my associate after receiving the call about Nina’s whereabouts. Now I sit, here in jail at the Manhattan Detention Complex, waiting for my case to go before the grand jury.

“I have my ways. Look, I don’t have time to bullshit. I need you to move the money from the offshore accounts and put it into Declan’s foundation.”

“No worries,” he responds obediently.

“Use his foundation to wash it and make it appear as clean as possible.”

“Got it.”

“I also need you to keep your eye on Declan. I want him followed. After the shooting, he’s been off, if you know what I mean.”

“The kid is f*cked up, Cal.”

“Yeah, well, that’s his issue. You need to make sure my issue is the one you’re protecting, got it?”

“Wrap it up, inmate,” the guard snaps at me.

“That money needs to be moved yesterday.”

“I’ll handle it,” he responds before the phone is snatched from my hand.





EATING ONE OF Isla’s Scotch eggs I’ve come to enjoy and sipping on hot tea, I flip through a local Edinburgh publication. It’s been several days since my last run-in with Declan. I’ve been holed up in my room, crying and feeling defeated. Wondering what to do, where to go, and how to move on in this life.

I was with Pike last night. He lay in bed with me; we haven’t done that in such a long time, and I forgot how very comforting it felt. I was finally able to breathe. He spoke to me, soothed me, and in that moment he was real. My head knows it’s a phantasm, but my heart refuses, so we talked, cried, and eventually he made me smile.

When I woke this morning, he was gone, but somehow I still feel him here. I remember when we were kids, and even living in the vilest circumstances one could imagine, when I was in his arms, I was okay. He was magical in that way. So was Declan. Both of them loved me and healed me in entirely unique ways.

Pike reminded me of my strength, and I showed him the back of my head, where Declan had ripped out my hair. I told him that I continue to pick at the scab and make myself bleed to feel better, proving to him that I’m weak, that I can’t handle the pain anymore, so I create my own. A pain I can control and use to mask the true ache that runs deep inside of me. But he assured me that what I’m doing is a symbol of strength. The fact that I refuse to let my emotions control me, and instead control them, is a testament to my vitality.

I decided to take his words and apply them to Declan. Instead of letting him control me and keep me away, I will take the control to get what I want. I’ve done it before; I can do it now. Pike is right. I’ve been allowing myself to crumble and feel as if I’m nothing on my own, but he reminded me that I’m not. That I’ve always been strong. Reminded me that even though I no longer have him as my vice, I’m powerful enough to create another.