Page 125 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

The young man practically fell inside, raising his hands in surrender.

“It’s not me,” he rushed out. “I’m not a part of it. I swear.”

Tech kept the gun trained on him.

God and Day stepped inside.

His gaze moved from the kid to Cassidy’s bloody arm, to Xander’s face, then back to the stranger.

The elevator doors closed and for one suspended second, no one spoke.

The young guy was shaking so hard his teeth chattered as God leaned down, glowering right in his face, his voice gravelly and menacing.

“You better hope like hell you’re not wasting my time, or fear’ll be the least of your feelings tonight.”

Xander Vale

Xander was a mess.

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking and his throat burned from screaming Cassidy’s name after he’d been shot.

His tuxedo shirt was gone, replaced by a hotel robe Free wrapped around him since his second outfit had Cassidy’s blood all over it. He was in God and Day’s bedroom with Cassidy, but his mind still felt trapped on that sidewalk.

He paced on the other side of the room, arms wrapped tight around himself, while Cassidy sat upright on the couch like the most stubborn man alive. His black shirt hung open, the ruined fabric cut apart by the studio doctor. His bulletproof vest was on the floor near a bloody towel, the front of it dented where the bullets hit. Dark, ugly bruises had already started to bloom beneath the hair across his chest. The last round had grazed him high on the outer arm.

The doctor numbed the area, cleaned it, and was putting in stitches while Cassidy acted as if the real injury was being left out of the interrogation in the adjoining room.

“I should be in there,” Cassidy growled. “God and Day are questioning a potential witness without me.”

The doctor, a gray-haired woman with tired eyes, tightened her grip on his arm. “Sit still before these stitches end up looking like barbed wire.”

“I don’t care,” Cassidy glared at her. “Like I told everyone else, I’m telling you too. I’m fine.”

“You have a bruised rib, soft-tissue trauma, and a wound that needs to close cleanly unless you want an infection,” she said, threading the needle with brisk precision.

“I’ve had worse, Deb, and you know it.”

“Still doesn’t make you Superman.”

Xander kept pacing. The room was too small for how much he was feeling.

Maribel had already released a brief statement about an “incident outside a private event,” which sounded so coincidental and mild, Xander wanted to fire her.

An incident?

“Lane.”

Xander stopped moving.

Cassidy lowered his voice. “Come here.”

He crossed the room on unsteady legs and eased onto the couch near Cassidy’s uninjured side, careful not to jostle him.

Cassidy lifted his left arm and pulled him close until he was tucked against him. He pushed his nose into the side of his neck and breathed him in. “Please, stop worrying,” he murmured.

“You were shot.” The tears came again before he could stop them. “You can’t just throw yourself in harm’s way like that.”

Cassidy hummed, taking another long breath. “I’ll take a bullet for you any day, sweetheart.”