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“Augie!” I called. “You can open the door now. It’s safe.”
I heard a muffled whimper and almost lost my damned mind.
“Shit,” I muttered, turning to race out the front door and around to the window.
“Where’s he going? He’s getting away!” I heard Marco call from behind me.
I climbed into the window and scrambled to the closet. As soon as my first hand was on the rung, a dark splash of crimson fell on the back of it.
Blood.
“Augie,” I cried up the ladder. “Are you hit?”
I climbed as fast as I could and pushed open the hatch. There, in the absolute farthest corner of the tiny nook, huddled my Augie in a tiny, trembling ball.
He lifted his head up to look at me.
His face was ice white and punctuated with huge, dark pupils. In the tiny space lit only by a few fairy lights glinting off golden keys, the bright red river of blood pouring down one side of his head stood out like a lit flare.
Augie blinked once, and then he hit the deck.
Chapter 37
Augie
Surviving gun violence wasn’t something I’d expected to do more than once in my lifetime. When the first loud shots sounded through the house, my blood turned to sludge and darkness nudged the edge of my vision. The familiar loud whoosh sound roared through my ears again, and I felt myself shutting down.
Guns.
There were guns and gunmen in my house.
And Saint was out there somewhere with his own deadly weapon. What if they turned it against him? What if they outnumbered him?
My brain went to another place while I pressed myself into the corner of my hiding spot so firmly, I didn’t even notice the exposed roofing nail by my head. As soon as the staccato pops of the second round of gunfire erupted, I threw my head to the side to get away from the sound and gouged my scalp with the nail. The pain was blinding—so much that I began to black out. I quickly sank to the floor so I wouldn’t bump my head when I fainted. While I tried to get my brain jumpstarted, I watched the blood trickle down to the rough-hewn floorboards of the attic space over the closet.
It wasn’t until I heard noises directly below me that I was able to scramble back to the corner and hide my face in my knees.
For some reason I didn’t realize it was Saint at first. I stared at him blankly, trying to place the reason my heart felt tender and raw. The lights went out, and I tumbled forward. I vaguely recalled later that something about me losing my balance seemed to spur him into action. He lurched for me, bumping his head on the low roof before gathering me to him.
Everything ran together after that. There were murmured words of love and reassurance whispered into my ear, soft kisses pressed into the side of my face that didn’t hurt like a bitch, and bright lights of a hospital corridor shooting daggers in my skull. Through it all, I was aware of a large, warm hand in mine. It never left my grip, no matter what harsh words were spoken or soft instructions given.
At one point I tried to swat at someone tugging on my scalp, but Saint’s voice soothed me back to a place I could let the medicine take over. I drifted in and out until waking up fully to a hospital room filled with sunlight.
“Blinds,” I croaked.
“You’re blind?” Stevie’s screech pierced my eardrums and caused me to wince, which shot arrows of pain into my skull.
“Get him out of here.” Saint’s voice wasn’t happy. “He promised to be quiet.”
“Steven,” the fire chief warned in a low tone.
“Fuck,” Stevie muttered. “Look at him though. He looks like Harry Potter. No amount of concealer is going to…” Someone must have shot him a look. “Anyway, could be worse I guess. At least it’s not Mad-Eye Moody.”
Charlie’s soothing lilt came from the other side of the room. “Blinds as in window coverings. Hudson, love, pull those curtains closed. The man’s head must be splitting wide open.”
I winced again but tried opening my eyes slowly as the brightness behind my lids dimmed significantly. Saint’s beautiful baby face was right in front of me, peering worriedly with his blue-gray eyes.
“Thank fuck,” he breathed. “I missed you.” He carefully moved to bury his face in my neck and inhale. I recognized it as a self-soothing gesture and hoped we had many years ahead of him finding comfort in me.
I brought my hands up to his shoulders, careful to watch the one with the IV in it. “You okay?” I asked. “I didn’t do a good job of…” I paused to catch my breath. Saint leaned back to look at me. His fingers brushed my hair off my forehead. “I didn’t protect you.”
