I rush to his side, my steps as frantic as my heart rate. My stomach heaves when I toss the blanket off him. His ruse of acting homeless is more authentic since he’s sleeping in pee-scented bedding.
The desire to sanitize my hands for the next year flies out the window when I raise his slumped head. He has a large gash on his right temple sending a stream of blood down his cheeks, his thick and bushy beard a perfect sponge to absorb the mess.
I gag again as my head grows woozy.I don’t do blood. Blood and I are not friends.
“Wait here; I’ll get help.”
I twist then stand, my charge across the asphalt only slowing when Alex faintly murmurs, “No.” For how fast my heart is raging, I’m shocked I heard him. “No police. Help me up.” His words are separated by long, painful groans.
Over a dozen curse words roll through my head when I bob down to aid him from the ground. He either drank two gallons of whiskey for dinner, or the bump on his head did a real number on him. He can barely stand upright.
“Whoa. Slow down,” I plead when he stumbles toward the dumpster he was resting on.If he falls, I may never get him up.
I watch him toss aside pee-stained blankets and soiled cardboard as if they’re feathers as he hunts for something in the trash next to the dumpster.
“What are you looking for?” I ask when his furious growl vibrates both my chest and the area between my legs.
After scanning the alley, he shifts his eyes to me. “They took my gun.”
“They?”
I want to act shocked at his admission he owns a gun, but we both know it would be a woeful waste of time. I’ve known since the day we bumped heads that he carries a weapon—now it’s just a fact instead of a hunch.
“From what I heard while drifting in and out of consciousness, there were at least two perps.”
“Perps?”
I swallow harshly. I’m more worried about him being unconscious than knowing how many men jumped him, but just like I’d never let Hugo believe he got one up on me, I can’t let Alex know how profoundly he’s crawled under my skin either. Not yet.Maybe never.
My hand slides into my clutch when Alex nods. The cool metal under my fingertips soothes me enough I can scan the alley without fear. The men who assaulted Alex better be long gone, or they’re about to find out the lengths Myers go to protect those they care about.
Mistaking the heavy groove between my brow as fear, not shock he’s already on a short list of men I’d draw blood for, Alex advises, “They’re not here. They left ages ago.” His lips quirk in confusion. “What time is it?”
He curses when I twist my wrist to show him it is nearly 1 AM.
“What the fuck did he hit me with? I was out cold for nearly two hours.”
Unsure if he wants me to answer, I shrug. “Are you sure you don’t want to call the police or go to the hospital? You’re bleeding—profusely.”
I’m surprised at how confident my voice is. My stomach doesn’t match. It’s five seconds from tossing.
“No police. I don’t want a turf war,” Alex answers.
I keep my expression just as passive as his, hoping it will hide my confusion about his reply. What turf war is he talking about. . .?Oh no. He’s not a gangbanger, is he?The Italian mob has been trying to get a foothold in Ravenshoe for years. Only Isaac’s friendship with another notorious syndicate leader has stopped it from happening. The same can’t be said for the towns bordering us. Hopeton has been riddled with gang violence the past twelve months.
My focus shifts to Alex when he asks to borrow my cell. Nodding, I rummage through my purse. Since I’m all thumbs, it soon falls to the ground, exposing Alex isn’t the only one packing heat.
“What the fuck?” Alex’s voice is as firm as his fists clench when he spots my gun. “Where did you get that? Is it legal?”
I shrug. I didn’t ask Hugo for the deets when he gifted it to me. I just shoved it in my purse, where it has remained until now.
“Give it to me.” He summons me with two fingers like I’m a dog being commanded to heel next to its owner.
He may be injured, and I may be on the verge of a panic attack, but you can be assured I’ll never be a spineless wench who jumps on queue. With a sneer, I shove my dainty weapon back into my purse before clutching it into my chest. “No, it’s mine.”
Alex steps closer to me, suffocating the putrid scent lingering in the alley with his seductiveI can’t wait to drink it all upsmell. “Open carry is illegal in Florida. You need a fucking permit.”
His expression twists with anger, but it has nothing on the worry crossing mine. Just the pain smoldering in his eyes when they met mine reveals it took him an immense amount of effort to retaliate to my childish reply—nearly as much as it’s taking him to remain standing.
