I glanced at Jackson, whose jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscles jumping. His hands were still pressed against his leg, blood seeping between his fingers. How much pain was he in? How much blood had he already lost? The thought of him dying… no, he couldn't. Not like this. not on my shitty apartment floor.
Alfeo stared at me, his eyes unreadable.
"Please," I begged.
"Fine." He said with a single nod, and relief swept through me for only a moment before my heart continued to hammer against my ribs. One wrong move and we'd all be dead. But if Jackson bled out, we'd lose our strongest ally. I tried to keep my breathing steady, to not show the terror that was making my hands shake.
"Can I get a clean cloth from the kitchen?" I asked as I raised my hands in surrender. "I need something to press against the wound."
Alfeo shifted the gun between targets—me, then Ivy, then Jackson, then the kid—never letting his guard down. Both Ivy and I couldn't help the sharp intakes when it lurched our ways. Seeing the gun aimed at me was not something I knew how to process.
It would take just one slip of the finger.
"Make it quick. No funny business."
I backed toward the kitchen, making sure my hands were still visible, not wanting to set him off and get shot on a whim. "I'm just getting a dish towel. That's all." I knew saying my intentions aloud would help keep him calm, I'd watched enough cop shows to know that talking through my actions was a good thing.
I carefully grabbed a clean dish towel and made my slow return. "Can I use his belt for the pressure?" I asked, nodding toward Jackson's discarded pants on the floor.
"Fine." Alfie's eyes darted between us all as I slowly collected the belt and returned to Jackson's side, kneeling beside him.
Jackson's eyes met mine, pain mixed with gratitude in their depths. I wrapped the belt around his thigh, above the wound, leaving it loosely buckled. The bullet had gone clean through, leaving an entry and exit wound that were both bleeding steadily.
From what I'd seen in far too many movies, that was supposedly a good thin.
Supposedly.
"This is going to hurt," I warned, wrapping the cloth against the entry and exit wounds while tightening the belt. I was grateful the dish towel was able to go all the way around to cover both. Jackson hissed through his teeth but gave me a small nod.
"I need to keep pressure on his wound," I said as the kid approached with rope. "Let me keep my hands in front. Please."
Alfeo considered this for a moment, and I was almost sure he'd decline my request, but then he nodded. "Fine. But if you try anything?—"
"I won't," I promised quickly. "I just want to keep him alive."
"Something tells me it's more than just for my leverage," Alfeo scoffed, the edge of his mouth curling before he glanced at the body on my floor again.
My stomach lurched as my eyes involuntarily followed his gaze. The dead man's vacant stare seemed to accuse me, even though I hadn't pulled the trigger. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the edge of carpet where it met the tile of the kitchen.
Copper. It smelled like copper now, and I shuddered.
I swallowed hard and looked away, focusing on Jackson's labored breathing instead. One death was already too many.
The kid bound my wrists in front of me while Ivy and Jackson had theirs tied behind their backs. My hands trembled as I pressed them back against Jackson's wound, trying to steady my breathing.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. Stay calm. Stay alive.
Alfeo gestured toward the door with his gun. "Move."
Walking down two flights of stairs was a nightmare. My heart hammered against my ribs with each step, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps that I struggled to control. The kid helped Jackson, who leaned heavily against him, face clammy with pain. And yet he was silent, not a single grunt or groan escaping him.
Just keep breathing. One step at a time. We'll get through this.
But the mantra felt hollow with Alfeo's gun trained on Ivy and me as we descended, the weapon never wavering.
My mind swam with panic and potentials exit ideas, but the fear of taking a bullet to the back kept me from making any kind of move. As we reached the first-floor landing, a door cracked open, a woman's startled eyes widening at the sight of us as I glanced at her. Alfeo swung his gun toward her door, and I felt my heart stop as the door quickly slammed shut.
Someone had seen us. Someone knew. But would they call the police? And would they get here in time? I silently prayed the woman would stay inside where it was safe. The last thing I needed was another death on my conscience.
