Chapter Twenty-Eight
My breath fogs the carnage in front of us as I stare at her, my back still resting on Quinn’s.
We’ve barely moved from this position in the centre of the room, a loader our only cover. We’ve stood firm, back to back, for once in tune with what the outcome needed to be. Whether that was for the same reasons or not is irrelevant. I did it for her.
Risked us all—for her.
I’d do it again.
Something moves to the right of me. It jolts me back into action, arm swinging to pull this trigger again if I have to. There’s nothing there, only the remnants of scattered bodies and a latent display of brutality. I look high, peering into the last corners there are, checking again and again for any more threats as I feel Quinn do the same.
Nothing.
It’s done. Over.
My leg finally gives way under the pressure, the blood seeping from my thigh causing agony and forcing me to slide down his frame until I hit the floor. He comes with me, giving me something to lean on just like he’s always done. I look back to her the second I’m down, breath panting out as I let her seep back into me, happy this bullet is lodged in my leg.
Two of the fuckers went for her. I turned, locked onto them without thought to myself, and this fucking round coming from another direction and bedded in my flesh was the result. And yet still I look at her now as if she’s the only thing in the room, barely registering anything but the bruising and blood on her face and the torn state of her clothes. It brings a rage through my shaking hand, regardless of the massacre around us, making me desperate to keep killing for reasons I can’t fathom. I hate it—hate that feeling inside me, no matter the reason it’s there. It consumes rationality, makes the sensible reckless.
Thoughtless.
Idiotic.
My gun rattles on the floor beside me, fingers trying to let go of it without releasing the metal. I don’t know why. Everything’s confused, mind blurred. So much death. So many dead. Blood sprayed, brains damn well blown all over the walls around us. Jon’s gone. Frankie, too. I watched them protect us, though. Watched them try. They fought like Quinn does as the ones we couldn’t get to crowded in, taking bullets to keep us safe. That thought alone destroys what’s left of the morals I held so close.
She gazes back with little emotion on her face. Perhaps she’s as lost as I am in the middle of this. This isn’t my territory. It’s Quinn’s. And yet I can’t release the damn gun in my hand. It won’t leave me, like it’s trying to stay close, still trying to protect us all.
“You okay?” Quinn says.
I shake my head. No, I’m not okay. I’m a fucking mess of conflicted feelings and screwed up emotions. And all I want to do is crawl across this blood splattered ground to get to her, regardless of the fact it all happened because of her. He moves behind me, causing my body to collapse to the side, gun finally falling from my grip as I keep staring at her frame. She looks so scared, her body quivering and shaking, eyes locked with mine.
“Get Gabby,” I mutter, pointing towards her. He looks me over, a frown on his face. “Bring her here, Quinn.” He shoves me sideways, lifting my leg until he can see the wound.
“Jesus,” he barks, moving me the other way and checking my back. “Why the fuck didn’t you say something?” He stands up and drags out his phone. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything. Perhaps I didn’t care as long as she was alive.
Love does shit like that to people.
“Quinn, I need her here.”
“Alright,” he says, roughing my hair.
He walks off, phone attached to his ear as he aims for her. Still she looks at me, no movement to acknowledge his presence between us. I smile as he gets to her, watching as she bats him away and remember that attitude of hers, thankful it’s still as strong.
“Yo, Quinn,” Den calls down from up high. I glance at him, watching him scale the sides down to the concrete we’re on. “The woman’s gone. Two of them bundled her into a Jeep. You want me to follow?” Rusty picks my head up and rests me flat down before I can check Quinn’s response, his hand pushed directly onto the bullet in my thigh.
“Fuck you,” I snap, the pain surging under his force.
He chuckles and looks back to where Quinn and Gabby are, hand reaching for something. A swathe of blue material is passed to him, what’s left of Gabby’s top I presume, and tied around my leg. Too fucking tight in my opinion, and the growl that leaves my throat has him backing it off a little for comfort’s sake. And then she’s there.
Real. Alive.
And nearly fucking naked.
Another growl leaves my mouth as I look her over, checking for injury, my hand reaching for her face. She smiles, cheek fitting into my fingers like it always does. She’s so cold, though, just like the smile she’s giving me. I know the feeling well. It’s the same one that’s coursing my blood—regret and hate for what’s happened, no matter how much it was necessary to save her.
Neither of us are killers, are we? Thieves maybe, but not killers.
Although, that’s fucking debatable now.
