Page 203 of Damián

Oliver flinches, glaring at his brother. “And yet, I’ll always be wiser and stronger than you in every sense that matters.”

“Who the fuck cares when I’m the one who’ll kill you?” Rafael lifts his gun, pointing the barrel directly at Oliver’s chest. “Die, bitch.”

No!

Still dizzy and in pain, I lunge forward, my fingers locking around Rafael’s wrist as he starts to pull the trigger.

I yank his arm toward me, forcing the barrel away from Oliver and pointing it directly at my own torso.

BANG!

The bullet tears through my side, where the shitty vest doesn’t protect me, and I collapse.

I cough, and my mouth fills with blood.

My vision begins to tunnel to a pinpoint, but through the haze, I see Rafael’s head snap back before he drops dead.

Logan appears in the background, gun raised, as Oliver falls to his knees, throwing his arms around me and pulling me toward him.

He’s sobbing, the mask slipping from his face as he rocks me against his chest, back and forth.

“Dami! No, no, no, please!” he begs.

He presses his hands against my bleeding side, trying to stop the flow, but the blood slips through his fingers.

“Please, please, open your eyes! Don’t leave me! Damián, look at me!”

I want to tell him I love him.

I want to tell him he’s safe now.

But the cold is spreading too fast, and the blackness finally swallows me whole.

— ¤ —

Two Weeks Later

I am sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. My muscles still feel stiff as hell, and my side hurts.

Ugh… I am so nauseous.

I need water.

I move to grab the glass of water that’s on the counter next to my bed and accidentally pull my sutured skin—argh! I growl with pain.

“Are you okay?” Björn asks, just as Alexios cuts in with, “Do you need a doctor?” while Knox barks over both of them, “Do you want food?”

“Oh, Dios mío! Go away, you suffocating old men!” I shoo them away with my hands.

“Don’t stretch by yourself.” Alexios grabs the glass of water and passes it to me. “We can pass you whatever you need.”

I take the glass and glare at them. “Why are you babying me in bed while that tattooed giant is walking around?”

“He’s Swedish,” Knox shrugs. “They don’t even do antibiotics, Dami.”

“It’s not good to medicate yourself,” Björn says with a shit-eating grin.

“You were stabbed, asshole!”