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There was nothing but agony as the second kick came, a loud crack echoing through the yard. Connor sneered down at me, grabbing me by the hair and hauling me to my feet as I wheezed and screamed in pain.
"Let go!" I grunted, stomping on his foot as I forced myself through it. I shoved my head back into his nose, wincing at the pain that exploded in my head as something wet coated my hair. For a moment, I thought it might be my blood. That somehow I'd managed to crack my head open, but when Emilio stood and wrapped his hands around my waist to lift me off my feet and haul me to the car, I got a good look at Connor's face.
His busted nose was a fountain of blood running down his face as he whimpered.
I had my answer to how I'd react if L
ino came home with his blood on him.
I'd fucking celebrate.
"No!" I screamed. "No!" I kicked and tried to fight, but Connor finally came to his senses and grabbed my feet. With one holding my torso and one controlling my feet, there was little I could do. Nothing I could do since the position made my ribs scream, made it so I couldn't breathe past the pain. "I hope he makes you suffer," I hissed.
Connor's eyes widened before he gave me a dark, sardonic laugh. "When did you get so bloodthirsty?"
I was about to hiss an answer, ready to spit something back about the fact that I was only thirsty for his blood.
And Emilio's. And Gabriele's.
But there was a muffled thump and Connor crumpled to the ground. My feet went with him, and the impact jarred my body.
My torso hit the ground a few seconds later, and I wanted to cry. Wanted to scream. But there was nothing. No air in my lungs, only the pain in my ribs.
Behind me Emilio whispered a desperate, "fuck." I watched him turn to run, staring up at the sky in relief. When I finally felt like I could move, I lifted my head, finding Connor’s body laid out on the ground in front of me. There was a hole in his forehead.
An entry wound.
There was another muffled thump, and the sound of Emilio shouting in pain.
The sound of men running past me caught my attention.
“Get your hands off me!” Emilio shouted.
"For once, you should hope it’s me who touches you and not Lino," a man I didn't know said. His voice was rough around the edges, like he didn't speak often and had to adjust to using it.
Lino's face filled my vision, and even in my dazed reaction I think I smiled up at him.
"Thank fucking God," he hissed, tugging me into his arms. I didn't fight, didn't even react to the pain that seared my insides. All I wanted was to be in his arms.
To be safe.
"It's over, Little Dove. Connor’s dead."
"Your father," I gasped.
Lino stilled, leaning against the car so that he could draw me into his lap. "What about my father?"
"Emilio said your father sent him," I whispered, finally lifting a hand to touch my ribs. Lino made no move to shift me off him, but his hand darted down to my long-sleeve shirt and lifted. I didn't bother to look, but I knew from how it hurt that there had to have been some marking. I imagined it would turn into quite a pretty boot print in time.
Lino cursed, calling, "Ryker!"
"Yeah?" That rough voice asked, and then the speaker stepped up beside us. He was shorter than Lino and Matteo, but only by a couple inches if I had to guess, and he made up for the lack of height by being ripped with muscles. His eyes were a vivid blue, striking as they narrowed on the place where my ribs hurt. His square jawline seemed savage, cut from stone, and his nose had a scar across the bridge and all those things seemed to contradict the full, almost feminine pillow lips that curled up into a sneer.
He was terrifying. but there was something soft in those intense blue eyes as he turned up to look at my face. "Get me Doc," Lino said. "And fucking find my father and you lock him in the warehouse. I want to do it; do you hear me?"
"Lino," I whimpered.
"Got it," Ryker stormed off, and his rough voice sounded as he made a call.
