INDIA
I turn into him, my shaky hands slipping all over his bloody torso. He’s barely resting on one elbow while trying to get up.
But it’s the strained look on his face that has my stomach in knots as his swarthy complexion grows paler.
When he mutters Matheus’ name and clenches his teeth, I push off the floor and tuck my shins under me to see him better.
His arm shakes as it lifts, aiming his handgun. I follow his gaze where Buffy’s stealth approach is undetected by Matheus, and her rifle is pointed right at him.
My pulse stutters the very second Tomás spins on his heels and launches himself at their youngest brother. The crack of a single bullet echoes to the ceiling and I forget to breathe.
The two men tumble to the floor, and it's only then that I notice one of Fabian’s soldiers drop like a stone in a shadowy corner. He was the real threat, not Buffy.
Matheus bounces to his feet, his nostrils flaring and his eyes wide, ready for war. A grunt follows the glare he shoots at the buffalo balaclava. But he points his gun to the floor and pumps four rounds into the dead guy.
Once he’s emptied his clip, he throws his hand out and helps Tomás rise to his feet.
“You okay, Mat?” Tomás butts their foreheads together.
“You didn’t have to do that, Tommy,” Matheus bites out. “You could have been hit.”
“I wouldn’t do it for just anyone,” Tomás replies, steps back, glances at the bloodied vest he wears, rips open the Velcro straps and strips like his skin is on fire.
In a blur, he tugs at his shirt, the buttons pinging, and drags it off his broad shoulders. His muscles twitch and his chest heaves. In that second, André appears beside him, unscrews a bottle of liquor, and douses his big brother’s hands.
But I’m not interested in them, not when my heart is racing. I’m blinking in the mess of Giovanni’s clothes, and how there’s blood all over him.
It’s everywhere.
“Gio… you’ve been hit.” I carefully peel his top up and find a leaking gunshot wound. “Dré! Oh, my God… someone help!” My urgent yell prickles my scalp. “Gio needs a hospital.”
Wincing, Giovanni squeezes his eyes shut and grunts, doing his best to sit upright.
“Wait… what are you doing? Don’t move.” I pant in stone-cold shock. “You’re losing too much blood.”
“Help me up, India… please.” He grabs onto my arm and moves his legs in preparation to stand. “Where’s Leo?”
“He’s upstairs,” I say, my voice shaky. “In my bedroom passageway. I told him to stay there.”
“You.” A bare chested Tomás points at Buffy. “Come with me. We’ll get the kid.”
André is beside me on my next ragged exhale, his over-the-top energy fisting his brother's top as he snarls into his face. “Why the fuck didn’t you put on a vest? You’re not invincible,cabron.”
“He gave me his,” Matheus says over my shoulder. “There weren’t enough.”
My throat tightens, ready to cry.
“Christ, you’re a fucking asshole, Gio,” André shouts, showing his distress.
He extracts a knife from under his pant leg and carves up Giovanni’s top, removing it to get a better look at his injuries.
Taut tattooed muscles are painted red and a dark hole oozes blood. It’s a massacre.
“Stay down. You’re hurt. This isn’t just a scratch… it’s serious.” André bunches up the material and presses it over the raw flesh.
“I know!” Gio snarls. “But there’s something I need to do.” His eyes darken with determination, refusing to listen to reason. Point blank ignoring the fact he’s hemorrhaging blood. “Help me get up, Dré, or back the fuck off.”
André sighs loudly, slots a hand under his brother's armpit, and hauls him to his feet. I stay tight to Giovanni’s hip, sliding my arm around his waist and doing my best to support his weight.
