Page 56 of Sin of Love
“Are you hit?” Liam asks, his voice too loud.
“My shoulder, I think. Or my arm. Can’t feel it, though.”
“That’s the adrenaline.”
I clutch Deirdre tighter. She’s not seizing anymore, but her face is deathly pale, her breaths short and shallow.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Morphine overdose.” Liam reaches into the back seat and fumbles in a small duffel. “Goddamn, good thing I trusted my gut on this.”
When he straightens, he pops on the overhead light and hands me an oversized syringe. It looks like a toy with a yellow plunger and a bright red cap, but it’s definitely not a toy. The label reads naloxone hydrochloride, narcotic antagonist.
“Stab her in the thigh. Give her all of it.”
Yanking off the cap with my teeth, I pull up the hem of Deirdre’s dress and sink the needle into the muscle of her thigh, pushing down the plunger like if I do it fast enough she’ll live… live…
“Oh, Jesus… Please, Deirdre. Please don’t die.”
The drug hits her like a train.
She screams as she awakens, arching like a bow in my arms. Her eyes open, full of confusion and mounting pain. She writhes, coughing and gasping and moaning. It’s horrible.
And beautiful, because it means she’s alive.
“Deirdre, it’s okay, it’s me, Gideon. I’m here. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
She finally stills, muscles tight with apprehension. Misty morning eyes find my face in the shadows. The whole universe holds its breath… Then a delicate hand touches my thick beard, and cold fingertips trace the shape of my lips.
“Gideon,” she mouths.
I nod, tears spilling unheeded from my eyes. I’m falling apart—or falling back together.
“She was wrong,” she whispers, words barely audible over the noise from the broken back window.
“Who was?” I ask gently, smoothing hair back from her pale, sweat-damp cheek.
“Mama. She said… I’d go to hell. But here I am—with you.”
Her eyes roll back and her head drops against my chest. Bottling my immediate panic, I find her throat, her singing pulse, and cough back a sob of relief.
“Steady pulse?” asks Liam.
I nod. “Is she—will she be okay?”
He clicks off the overhead light and sighs. “Think so, but she needs medical attention. Speaking of—how’s the arm?”
“Starting to hurt. Where are we going?”
“Detour to a friend’s house. She’s a former nurse. We’ll get you both checked out, then proceed as planned—switch cars and fly out of a private airport in Tulum, about an hour’s drive south of here. We’ll be in Los Angeles by morning.”
None of the travel information is new to me, but his measured voice works wonders on my nerves.
“Do you do this a lot?” I ask wryly.
“Get shot at by cartels? Fuck no.”
“Huh, that’s a relief. But you think we’re being followed?”
