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Monroe came over and knocked her fist against the wall too. “Help!” she yelled. “Someone, help us!”
“Mila!” a voice I knew and loved bellowed. “Mila, I’m coming,” Lyric promised.
My heart quickened, and I grabbed Monroe’s hand. “They came for us,” I told her.
Tears filled her eyes, and she smiled. “We’re going home.”
But even as she said it, the sound of bullets came from the other side of the house. I felt all the blood drain from my face when I heard someone shout in pain, followed by more gunfire.
Heavy, running feet sounded outside the door of our room, and then it was pushed open. The driver ran in, his eyes manic. I pushed Monroe behind me, because his eyes were on her.
A backhand to my face sent me flying. I reached out, catching myself on the bed before I hit the floor. Monroe cried out in pain when he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out of the room, but he left the door open.
Stumbling to my feet, I ran after them. I had no idea how I would help my sister, but I knew I needed to at least try.
The house seemed to be one level, and the layout was pretty open from the quick look I got of the place. There was a couch in the living room and a beat-up old coffee table in front of it. Empty pizza boxes littered it, along with beer and soda cans. And right on top of one of the boxes lay a Glock.
I grabbed it, checking the magazine to make sure there were bullets in it. Taking off the safety, I ran out the door just as I heard Monroe scream in pain.
The guy was still dragging her by the hair, but she’d fallen and was on her hands and knees as he pressed his gun to her temple while still backing toward a car I didn’t recognize.
“Let her go,” Jesse Thornton commanded, and I blinked when I realized he was holding a gun, pointed right at Monroe’s captor.
The guy spat something in Italian, and Monroe only screamed again, sobbing as she tried to get to her feet.
“Mila.” I jerked at the sound of my name and, turning my head, saw Lyric on the other side of the car. He was holding his arm, and my heart stopped. “Baby, run,” he begged. “Get out of here.”
I shook my head, tears burning my eyes. Was he shot? Oh God, no. I couldn’t stand it if he was hurt.
“Mila!” I heard Dad’s voice but couldn’t see him. Lyric looked down beside him, and I realized Dad must have been behind the car with him. “Go!”
“Not without Monroe,” I told them. There was no way I was leaving without my other half. They could get mad all they wanted, but I wasn’t leaving her behind. Ever.
“Mila.” Jesse’s voice was softer, oddly calm, seeing as he was pointing a gun at some stranger. “I need you to back up into the house, honey. I don’t want one of these bullets accidentally hitting you or one of my grandbabies. Okay, sweetheart?”
The guy raged again and lifted his gun, pointing it right at me. Out of instinct, I lifted my own, ready to pull the trigger, but before I could, two rounds went off.
The guy holding Monroe by the hair dropped to his knees before falling lifelessly onto his face. My sister started screaming, crawling backward from the dead body, and I just stood there, looking in utter awe at the man who was going to be my father-in-law.
The gun dropped out of Jesse’s hand, and he frowned down at the dead body as if he couldn’t believe he was responsible for taking someone’s life.
Lyric bent, and when he reappeared, he was helping Dad. There was blood pouring from Dad’s right shoulder and left leg. Lyric seemed to be taking most of his weight as he half carried, half dragged Dad around the side of the car.
When they reached Monroe, Dad dropped down beside her and pulled her into his arms, trying to soothe her. Lyric, holding his arm once again, ran over to me.
Before he could wrap his arms around me, I dropped my gun and grabbed his injured arm. “Were you shot?” I cried.
“Yeah,” he said like it didn’t matter, like he didn’t have a hole in his fucking arm right then and was bleeding all over the place. He wrapped his arms around me, his lips touching every part of my face and neck he could reach. “Are you okay?” he asked in a raspy voice. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“I’m okay,” I tried to reassure him, but I wasn’t sure he heard me because his hands were skimming over my entire body, feeling for injuries. When he looked at my face, his eyes narrowed. “You have a bruise here,” he said, touching my jaw with fingers that shook.
Grimacing in pain at the soft touch, I pulled my head back. “It’s nothing. We need to get Monroe to a hospital. She was cramping earlier and spotting. And you have a gunshot wound. How much pain are you in?”
“Babe, I’m fine. Your dad needs a doctor, though. He took one to his shoulder and one in the thigh.” Lifting me, he carried me to the SUV and placed me in the back seat. “Stay here. I’ll get everyone.”
The closest hospital was over ten miles away. Lyric had to drive because his dad seemed to be in shock as he sat mutely in the front passenger seat. But by the time we got to the hospital, Jesse was finally snapping out of it. He helped me out of the back while Lyric assisted Dad into a wheelchair and then lifted Monroe into his arms.
Jesse wheeled
