“Tiffany, stay with me. Come on, keep your eyes open. Talk to me, tell me something, anything.”
Erin’s voice trembles, but she’s strong. She’s clutching Tiffany’s hand, her other hand brushing hair away from her friend’s bruised face.
Rage boils inside of me. This girl can’t be more than twenty-five years old. Anyone who would hurt a woman like this is a piece of shit who deserves worse done to him.
I glance in the rearview mirror, catching the panic in Erin’s eyes. Tiffany’s breathing is shallow, her head lolling to the side. I push the SUV harder. The hospital’s only a minute or two away.
“She’s out!” Erin’s voice cracks, panic bubbling over.
“Check to see if she’s breathing. Check her pulse.”
In the rearview mirror I watch as Erin presses her hand lightly against Tiffany’s sternum, feeling the faint rise and fall. “She’s breathing, barely. Thank God. We need to get there now, Samuel.”
“We’re almost there,” I assure her.
Erin pulls in a deep breath, her tension radiating through the car. She holds onto Tiffany as if letting go would shatter her.
I pull the SUV to a halt in front of the ER and slam it into park. I jump out of the driver’s seat in seconds. I pull open the back door, lifting Tiffany into my arms as gently as I can. Erin scrambles out after me, her face pale but determined.
“Help!” I call out as I carry Tiffany through the automatic doors. The sterile, fluorescent lights of the ER hit us like a slap, and a nurse rushes forward, calling for a stretcher.
“Over here,” the nurse says, motioning to a gurney being wheeled toward us. I set Tiffany down carefully, my jaw tightening as she moans faintly, her head rolling to the side. Erin steps up beside her, gripping the edge of the stretcher.
“We found her in the street. She said someone beat her and shoved her out of a car.”
The nurse nods as she begins an initial assessment of vitals.
“I’m staying with her,” Erin says.
The nurse shakes her head. “Unless you’re family, you can’t come back with us.”
Erin’s face hardens. “I’m the closest thing she’s got right now. She doesn’t have any family here.”
“I understand,” the nurse says firmly, “but you need to stay in the waiting area.”
Erin doesn’t move. “She’s scared, and she’ll wake up alone. I need to—”
“Erin,” I say. “Let them do their job. She’s in good hands.”
For a moment, I think she’ll argue, but then she steps back.
“Does she have any family in the city?” the nurse asks.
Erin nods. “Yeah. Her Mom and Dad.”
“If you could get a hold of them, that’s the best thing you can do for her right now. We’ll take it from here.”
Another nod, then she watches as the nurses wheel Tiffany away, her arms crossing over her stomach like she’s physically holding herself together. I don’t miss the guilt flickering across her face. It’s eating at her, even if she doesn’t say it.
Erin doesn’t run—not from her past, not from this. She’s smart enough to know she can’t fight this battle alone, and that might be what saves her.
She turns to me, her jaw set, her eyes glistening with tears. “She didn’t deserve this.”
“No,” I agree, stepping closer. “And neither do you. You can’t carry the guilt for this.”
Erin stares off, her gaze distant, like she’s miles away. I place a hand gently on her shoulder.
“Hey,” I say, my voice low. “You with me?”
She blinks, coming back to the moment, and looks up at me. A weary smile tugs at her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“You sure?” She nods, though it’s half-hearted, and her smile wavers. “You’re not alone in this, okay?”
Her head rests briefly against my chest before she steps back, running a hand through her hair. “I know. It’s just… I’d bet anything that Misha did this to get back at me. And I hate that Tiffany had to be the one to pay for it.” Her eyes flash with anger.
“Wait,” I say. “Why would Misha go after Tiffany?”
“She works at one of Misha’s other bars,” she explains. “He must’ve beat her there, then dumped her outside your club to send a message. He wants me to know that even if I hide out with you he can still get to me.”
The thought makes my blood boil. “The cops need to know about this.”
She snorts, shaking her head. “The hospital will more than likely contact them. But Tiffany’s in no position to talk, and even if she could, she wouldn’t.”
“Why not?” I’m not sure why I’m asking that question since I already know the answer. I know how men like Misha work. The look on Erin’s face confirms I should know better.
“Because Misha has half the police force in his pocket. Reporting this will be a waste of time, and it might even make things worse.”
I nod, clenching my jaw. She’s right, and it pisses me off more than I want to admit. Misha’s reach is long, and it’s not the first time I’ve seen someone too scared to stand up to him.
Knowing that, there’s nothing to do but wait. Erin spends the time going through her contacts and reviewing her messages with Tiffany, trying to find a way to get ahold of her parents. After some doing, she manages to place the call.
An hour passes before a doctor approaches us, clipboard in hand. “We’re admitting her,” she says, glancing between us. “One of her lungs is punctured, and she has a mild concussion, not to mention countless bruises. She’ll need to stay for a couple of days.”
Erin’s expression hardens. “What room? I want to see her.”
The nurse hesitates. “Are you family?”
“I’m a friend,” Erin says quickly.
“And he is?” the doctor asks, nodding toward me.
“Her boss,” I reply, gesturing toward Erin. “We found Tiffany.”
The doctor nods. “Contacting her family is our top priority at the moment.”
“I called her parents,” Erin says. “They should be on their way.”
“Good. The staff will update them when they arrive.” She leaves without giving us anything more.
Erin exhales slowly, her hands tightening into fists at her sides.
“You did what you could,” I tell her. “Tiffany’s alive because of you.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not enough. I should’ve been there for her, should’ve checked in. I knew Misha was after me.”
“You’re not responsible for the actions of evil men, Erin. There’s no way you could have prevented it.”
She looks at me with glistening eyes, a tear trickling down her cheek that I quickly wipe away. But more tears come. I pull her close, letting her cry quietly against my chest. Erin leans against me, her body tense, her head resting lightly on my shoulder.
“She’ll be okay,” I assure her. “This is a good hospital. They’ll take good care of her.”
She nods, but I can feel the stress radiating from her, guilt and anger pressing down like a stone. It’s almost four in the morning, and she’s been running on fumes for hours. She’ll need rest. I’ll stay close, just to make sure she gets it. I’ve already decided she’s taking the night off whether she likes it or not.
The sound of hurried footsteps coming down the hallway grabs my attention. A woman bursts into the waiting area, her face tight with panic, her features strikingly similar to Tiffany’s. She crashes into the space like a storm, her voice rising in panicked bursts before anyone can stop her.
“What happened? Where’s Tiffany? Is she okay? Who did this? Where is my daughter?” Her words are directed at no one in particular, her eyes flicking from one nurse to another.
The nearest nurse barely has time to open her mouth before the woman turns her attention to Erin, her wild gaze pinning her down. “Do you know? Were you with her? Who hurt her?”
“Ma’am,” I say, stepping in. “Take a breath. I know you’re worried, and I promise we’ll answer your questions, but you need to calm down first.”
My words stop her cold. I’ve dealt with enough crises to know that sometimes, a stern tone is best.
She takes one deep breath after another, the kind of worry only a mother is capable of painting her face. “I just… I don’t know what’s going on. One minute I’m in bed, the next, the hospital’s calling, telling me something happened to my baby girl. I—”
“Tiffany’s hurt, but she’s going to be OK.”
She takes one slow breath, then another. “I’m Linda,” she says. “Tiffany’s mother. My husband is parking the car.”
Erin steps forward, calm radiating off her. She’d been so worried just a short time ago, but that’s gone now. Her calming instincts have kicked in for Tiffany’s mom. She understands she doesn’t have the luxury of fear anymore—Tiffany’s mother needs calm and strength.
“Hi, Linda,” she says, holding out her hand. “I’m Erin, a friend of Tiffany’s. We met briefly once before. I’m the one who found her.”
Linda hesitates, then takes Erin’s hand, her grip weak. Erin gently guides her to one of the chairs in the waiting area.
“Here’s what we know. Tiffany was attacked. We found her outside the nightclub where I work,” Erin says, kneeling beside Linda so they’re at eye level. “The doctors said one of her lungs is punctured and she has a concussion, but they’re taking good care of her and you should be able to see her soon.”
Linda’s hand flies to her mouth as a sob breaks free. “Attacked? By whom? Why? She’s never hurt anyone. Who would do this?”
Erin sucks in a breath before continuing. “We don’t know all the details yet, but I promise, the doctors are doing everything they can. She’s in good hands. The police should be here soon to take a report.”
Linda’s sobs increase, her body trembling as she leans forward. Erin places a hand on her arm, squeezing gently.
“I’ll be here tomorrow to check on her,” she says.
Linda offers a weak smile. She sniffles, wiping a tear away. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you for helping her.”
I stand back, watching Erin with admiration. She’s steady and grounded, the kind of person you want in your corner when everything feels like it’s falling apart.
A nurse approaches and addresses our little group. “Tiffany’s still recovering. When she’s ready for a visit, I’ll let you know.”
A pair of police officers enter the lobby. One of them nods at the nurse. “Ma’am,” he says, “we’re here to take a statement about what happened.”
Linda’s sobs quiet down, her focus shifting to the officers.
We give our brief statement, explaining how we found Tiffany outside the club and brought her to the hospital. Erin doesn’t tell them what Tiffany said about Misha, and I don’t press her.
After we’re done, Erin squeezes Linda’s shoulder one last time before walking over to me, worry etched on her face.
“You handled that well,” I tell her, watching the officers lead Linda out of the room. “Not everyone has what it takes to stay calm in a situation like that.”
“That’s what happens when you grow up in the mob.”
I nod. “Though there’s something else that happens when you grow up like I did,” she adds.
“What’s that?”
“You don’t leave shit like this to the cops. You find the bastards and handle it yourself.”
