“What do you want, Quinn?” I ask, tilting my head at him and tightening my fists. “She’s not far off dead because of her.” I point at Emily, noting the look of contrition from her, at least. He doesn’t change a goddamn thing, antagonism rolling off his frame. “She stood in front of your woman to save her. Can you explain that to me? ‘Cause I’m fucking struggling with what that means.” He takes a step forward. It’s a goddamn fateful one given my mood.
“It was her, Vico. All the time. She set it all up.”
“I know. I knew before, and I still know now,” I spit, my body closing in on his. “You’re still alive, aren't you?”
“You damn well knew?”
“It was my fucking business. In my house, Cane.” I get in real close, letting him smell what's fucking coming if he keeps on at me. “I know everything in my fucking house.”
“Guys,” Nathan says, coming into my line of sight. I glare at him, then back at Quinn.
“My fucking house, Quinn. Mine.” I wave my hand behind my back to Torino and Luca, signaling them to get over here. They both do, guns ready to cause damage if that’s what’s needed. “You all get the fuck out of it before you don’t get the chance to leave at all.”
Silence then, other than the noise coming from the room Hope’s in. I look at it, watching as the three people in there start lifting her from the bed to transfer her to the other one. The sight makes me walk back to her and abandon the argument. I haven’t got the time or the patience for it at the moment. For once in my life I’m scared. What of, I haven’t worked out yet. Death maybe. Hers. Fuck knows why. I should hate the bitch for all this shit. Should have hated her when she told me about it all at the beach house. I didn’t. Still don't. I carried her all the way back here, my hand compressed onto the stomach wound, desperately hoping she wouldn’t die, and made Quinn call Daniel and get him here.
“Benjamin?” I swing to see Emily at the door, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Is she… Is she going to be okay?” I shrug. I don’t know.
She lingers there, her foot poised to step into my space, so I turn away from her again, for some reason not caring if she comes in or not. Hope thought prudent to protect her, though. Maybe that means something to me now. I don’t know that either.
“Why did she jump in front of you?” I mutter, looking at Daniel as he starts feeding intravenous lines into Hope. One of the women takes blood, the other setting up some medical table with an array of tubes laid out on it.
Soft footsteps approach me, a hand coming to rest on my shoulder.
“I’m not sure. Maybe she was just trying to help. She told me to stay behind her.” I look at her, no idea why my Hope would do something like that for someone like Emily. “She did say one other thing.”
“Yeah. What?” I reply, looking back at Hope.
“She said that I didn't deserve this. None of us did.”
The words make me glare at the pale incarnation of the woman I know. We didn't deserve this. I could fucking laugh. If anyone deserves death it's me,not her. The shit I've done in my life, the people I've destroyed, yet here she is, choosing to save Emily instead of herself in the middle of this screwed up existence.
“I didn’t really understand that,” she continues. “She would have got away if she’d let the bullet hit me instead, don’t you think? The position we were all in? She could have run.” Yeah, but she didn't. She chose courage over fear. Looked that cunt straight on and waited for the bullet to land, knowing it could kill her. I stare still, feeling Emily’s hand slip from my arm. “I’ll leave you to it, then. We'll be just out there if you need us.” I turn back to her and frown. “If she really is their sister, Benjamin, it's family. Please. Quinn’s just… being Quinn. Give him a bit of leeway. He’s worried.” Is he fuck? He’s waiting to damn well interrogate her. That’s not gonna happen. But she smiles at me, reminding me of their bond. It’s disarming for some reason.
“You keep them out of here,” I mumble at her. “Away from me.”
“Okay.”
I walk closer to the bed, listening to the sound of the door closing behind me, and I pull my hands from my pockets. They hover at my sides, part wanting to touch her and part not daring to. She doesn’t deserve this feeling inside of me. She’s a traitor. A vengeful bitch who used me to aid her own game. A slight smile tips my lips, respect for that game coming from deep down inside where my own dirt lives. I understand it, the need for vengeance. It’s part of me, too, but I’ve always had the ability to act on it with no fear for my own survival. It’s what happens when you grow up like I have, a team behind you to back you all the way, through whatever comes. My father taught me that long ago, and he gave me the power necessary to make sure no one ever fucked me or my city over. She never had that backing. It was just her—her and her retribution. And now she's bucked that thought, thrown herself in harm's way to prove herself. Who to? Fuck knows. Me maybe. Those boys out there, definitely.
I lift my hand to touch her, honouring that thought alone at least. It’s one brave bitch that lies here now, fierce behind a shroud she chose to show me. She was never a good girl for me, never my good girl. She was a good girl for herself. Clever. Cunning. Courageous.
Perfect really.
“You’ll need to clean up if you want to touch her,” Daniel says from behind me somewhere. “I’ve got her, but I don’t need the complications of an infection. This isn’t a hospital.”
I snatch my hand from its position, suddenly noticing the blood and grime smeared all over it. It makes me look down at myself for the first time and frown. The white shirt and vest are covered, my trousers a mess of rust and filth. I nod at him and back away from the bed towards the wardrobe to grab at some clean clothes then cross for the bathroom.
The water means nothing as I soap and rinse myself down, but the time in here does. It lets me feel the need to get back out there to her. I’m hurrying rather than allowing the usual time I spend wiping shit like this off me. I usually relish cleaning guts off my skin, make it feed me more images, so I’ll stay focused on my city and the boundaries I’ve put in place. But not this time. Now all I want is out of this and back to her side.
I'm fucking proud, that's what I am.
It confuses me as I towel down and start pulling fresh pants on. I don’t know what it all means, but it’s the same feeling as when we’re at the beach house, an ache that doesn’t know what to do with itself. Love presumably. I snarl at its influence, unsure if it should hold such power over my being. Whatever this all is, or has been, she's too close for comfort.
“I need to talk to you about these test results,” Daniel says as I come out of the bathroom. I discard the shirt and look at her, dumping the towel I was drying my hair with in the wash bin. She’s no different than she was when I left that I can see, so I look at him.
“What about them?”
“They’re good. Don’t worry. She’s all right. Some more time resting and she’ll be fine. Eventually.” I look at her some more, walking over and checking her myself. She’s still the same as she was, better in some ways. There’s a slight blush of colour in her face now, although nothing else has changed. I reach for her skin, touching her arm to see how warm she is as I listen to the bleeps and sounds coming from the machines around her. She was so fucking cold when I carried her back, not quite as bad now, though. “You said she couldn’t be pregnant, Ben. She is.”
