“We did. We do.” He sounded affronted. “And no, not at our place. We went to a motel.”
“Who hurt him? Did he give you a name?”
“He said his name was Michael Shaw.” Sweetcheeks chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “We didn’t believe him.”
“Fuck.” Shaw was dead. Someone else was using his name. Someone intent on sending me a message? You may think I can’t get to you, but I can get to your friends? I’d think about that on the drive to the hospital. “Where are you, Sweetcheeks?”
“The paramedics took us to GW. Vince, what if he doesn’t make it?”
“He’s going to make it. I’ll kill him if he doesn’t. Okay, listen to me. George Washington Hospital has one of the best trauma centers in DC. Pretty Boy is going to be fine.”
“Vince, can you—? I know you’re busy….”
“I’m on my way.” I disconnect
