Sawyer steps forward, assessing the injuries with a practiced eye. “Arthur Charles?”
My father’s head lifts.
He looks at Sawyer, then at Ozzy, then his gaze slides back to me. “Get me out of here please.”
Sawyer nods. “Roger that.”
Two other men with Sawyer move deeper into the warehouse, checking rooms. A shout echoes from the far side, then a thud, then another voice calling, “Two down. One restrained.”
Ozzy grabs my elbow gently and pulls me closer to him, positioning me behind his body like a shield. My chest tightens because it feels both protective and intimate, like he can’t help himself.
I whisper, “Is it over?”
Ozzy’s voice is low. “Not yet.”
Sawyer nods to Jaxson, who moves to my father with the med kit. He checks the ropes, checks the bruising, checks his pulse.
My father’s breathing’s shallow. His skin’s clammy. His face looks gray under the fluorescent lights.
My stomach drops. “He needs help.”
Sawyer’s voice is firm. “He’s going to get it.”
My father’s gaze locks on mine again, urgent despite his injuries. “Salem,” he rasps out.
I lean closer, my hands shaking. “What?”
His one good eye is fierce. “Remember what I told you. There’s a mole.”
My palms slick with sudden sweat, betraying me before I can hide it.
Ozzy hears it. His face hardens. His eyes flick to Sawyer for a fraction of a second. Sawyer’s jaw tightens, but he does not look surprised. That scares me more than if he had.
Sirens wail faintly in the distance, getting closer. Someone called police. Or backup. Or both.
Sawyer speaks into comms. “Secure the scene. We’re transporting.”
A man they call, Jaxson, cuts my father free, and my father sags forward with a groan. Jaxson catches him, strong and steady, lifting him carefully like he weighs nothing.
My throat tightens. “Dad.” The word slips out before I can stop it.
My father’s head lifts slightly, and his one good eye softens with something that looks like regret.
Ozzy’s hand slides to the back of my neck, grounding me. “We’re taking him to the hospital.”
I swallow hard. “I’m coming.”
“You are,” Ozzy says, and his voice leaves no room for argument.
Outside, the cold air hits my face again. Ambulance lights flash red and blue across the warehouse walls. Officers swarm in.
Sawyer speaks to someone, quick and controlled.
I turn to Ozzy as they guide us toward the ambulance. My wrists throb. My heart races. My brain feels too full. “Ozzy,” I whisper.
He looks at me, eyes fierce. “I’m here.”
I swallow. “My father says someone at Maddox is feeding Serafina information.”