“Your buddies,” Marco groans, shifting to sit up and gritting his teeth against the pain. “They came out of nowhere.”
“Did you get a chance to see who they were?” Armando demands. I can see the gears turning in his head, already planning retaliation.
“I-I don't know,” I stammer, still in shock. “I didn't see their faces.”
“Fuck.” Armando's gaze shifts between Marco and me, his concern palpable. “We need to get you both somewhere safe. Can you walk?”
“Of course I can walk,” Marco scoffs, trying to climb to his feet. His face contorts with pain, and he collapses back onto the ground. Armando's jaw clenches, and he picks up Marco’s arm to wrap around his shoulder, heaving him to his feet.
“Yeah, you're not walking anywhere like this.”
I move to the other side of Marco to help. Together, we manage to hoist Marco to his feet, each of us taking one of his arms over our shoulders.
“Mando,” Marco says quietly, his voice strained. “I didn’t see it coming.”
“We’ll worry about that later,” Armando clips. “Right now, we need to focus on getting you both out of here.”
As we half-carry, half-drag Marco out of the alleyway toward my shop, my thoughts whirl with a gut-wrenching realization: my life has become irrevocably intertwined with this dangerous world and the man who brought me into it. Not that witnessing him kill a man with his bare hands hadn’t already bound us together.
Blood soaks the back of Marco’s leg, and I see Armando take it in, his nostrils flaring. “We need to get you to the hospital,” he says.
“I'm fine,” Marco insists through gritted teeth as I try to steady him on his feet. “Just get one of the guys to dig the bullet out.”
“Shut up,” Armando snaps. “I’m taking you to the hospital. Give me your keys.” He props his cousin up against the brick wall by my back door.
“Dude, I don’t want blood on the seats of the Beamer.”
“You’d rather go in an ambulance?”
He makes a growling sound in his throat. “Fine.” Marco reluctantly gives up his keys.
“Can you hold him up for a minute, Flowers? I’ll pull the car around.”
“Of course.” My voice breaks. I’m still shaking all over, in total shock.
Armando must catch the fear in my voice because he pauses, gaze roaming over me again, as if he’s still searching for any sign of injury.
“I’m okay,” I promise. “Go get the car.”
Worry clouds his dark eyes. “Are you sure?”
I nod, trying to ignore the lingering fear that clings to me like a second skin. “I'm fine. Really. Go!”
He gives a jerky nod and jogs away.
A few minutes later, a BMW zips into the alleyway and stops. Armando throws open the passenger door, then climbs out to help me get Marco into it. I climb into the back seat.
“You should just dump me in the front,” Marco says when Armando takes off. “I wouldn’t want this to affect your parole.”
Armando’s jaw tightens. “This is my fucking fault,” he snaps.
“Quit your pity party, stronzo. I’m the one who got shot. You’re gonna drop me in front and drive away. Call Leo and make sure he keeps it from our ma then come in with him when he arrives, like you just found out.”
Armando looks grim, but nods. I see him checking the rear view mirror at me.
“I’ll go in with him,” I say. “I’m not on parole.”
“No,” Armando says immediately. “I don’t want you tied to this in any way. Capito?”
