OPHELIA
Brian doesn’t get out of the hospital until late that afternoon. They can’t do much for cracked ribs, but they stitch up the gash in his side and give him antibiotics and painkillers. Between that and the beating he took from Assante, he’s sore and a touch grumpy by the time we walk out to the car.
I’m doing better, but Molly’s wiped out, napping on my shoulder as she clings to my front like a baby koala. I keep my arms tight around her, unwilling to let her go again.
“Are you angry at me?” he asks. “I almost couldn’t keep my promise.”
“No. The only guys to blame are the Cohens and that Assante bastard. Did that FBI agent actually drive him to the hospital while duct taped like that? I can’t imagine her being so kind, but then again, I’m ready to kill the bastard myself for poi
