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“Lara!” Roland’s door opens and slams shut.
I’m running to the small car, cupping my hands on the windows and looking inside. It looks normal… Nothing is disturbed or broken.
“He’s not here,” I cry, my voice breaking.
Looking wildly around, I don’t know where Landry’s house is, but it has to be near if Mark left the car hidden here.
Roland stands beside me, his jaw tight. “I don’t have my keys.”
Armand walks to where we’re standing. “Landry’s house is just up the road there, behind the blue house on the corner.”
My eyes fly to where the lone street lamp illuminates a two-story blue residence, and I’m about to run to it when Roland’s strong grip closes over my arm, jerking me back.
“Stop!” he growls. “You do not run off like that here. These guys are dangerous. This one in particular is a killer.”
Armand looks up the short distance. “I’ll go—”
A low groan cuts him off, and I grab my mouth, squeezing my lips together to silence my scream. Roland releases me, hustling to the other side of the car.
“Mark?” Roland drops to a squat, and I’m right behind him, falling to my knees and reaching for my fiancé.
“Oh, God!” I whisper, tears dropping onto my cheeks. “Mark!”
He’s lying on his side, one hand outstretched to the car. His skin is ghastly white, and the left half of his face is smeared with blood.
Roland feels all around in the grass beside him. “Thank fuck, here’s the key. Get him into the car.” He’s on his feet unlocking the Fiat.
Carefully reaching out, I touch his face. “Mark?”
“Have to get away,” he groans.
His skin is so cold, but his eyes blink open slowly. I’m simultaneously relieved and panicked.
“Lara?” He grabs my shoulder. “Go… We have to go.”
“Help me, Armand.” Roland has the back door open, and he’s grasping one of Mark’s arms.
Armand takes the other. “Can you stand?”
Mark groans again, but he manages to get one of his legs under him. They struggle helping him to his feet, but as soon as he’s up, he collapses hard against the side of the car.
“It’s okay,” I say, not sure of anything. “You’re going to be okay.”
“Just a few steps to the left,” Roland says.
Armand helps, but he keeps looking over his shoulder in the direction of Landry’s house. “We need to get out of here.”
I rush forward and hold Mark’s waist, steadying him with my shoulder against his chest, my hip at his thigh.
“You can do it,” I urge. “Come on.”
His muscles flex as he holds the door, easing himself into the backseat. I’m right behind him, jumping inside as Roland slams the door shut.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, wrapping my arm around his shoulder, cradling his head against my neck. My eyes are so hot, and my insides are vibrating with fear, worry, and cautious relief. “Roland, do you have a tissue or a napkin?”
He leans forward and digs in the glove box, pulling out a small white towel. “What happened?”
Mark alternates between resting his head against my neck and trying to hold it up. “He shot me… I-I lost consciousness.”
