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He was too late. A blast came from behind us and Gordon’s thigh bloomed red. He cried out, buckled to his knees, and dropped his gun. Theo acted first, rushing to his father and bending over him, but not to staunch the bleeding. It was to grab the weapon.
Trace collapsed over Gordon, crying out and grabbing whatever he could to stop his father from bleeding out.
I reached for Theo, to drag him out of the way, but he shook me off, and the look he gave me…
Oh, thelook.
I wouldn’t forget it for the rest of my life.
“Don’t finish the job,” I said, but wasn’t sure if he could hear me. If I clawed at his back, he wouldn’t react. If I slapped his face, his jaw wouldn’t move. All Theo could see was his father, lying on his back in the middle of the road, and Trace, leaning over him, screaming in his face not to die.
“It’s not worth it,” I tried again. Gently, I laid my fingers on the crook of his elbow. “They’re coming. You know that gunshot wasn’t from—”
A swarm of black enveloped us, men and women in SWAT gear grabbing at our arms, our shoulders, slamming us to the ground facedown. Theo had his feet swiped out from under and he crashed down beside me, his cheekbone cracking against the concrete as they wrestled the gun out of his limp fingers.
Our hands were cuffed behind our backs at the same time.
“Theo, listen to me—” I tried.
He closed his eyes, acquiescing to everything else but me. My lips trembled, forming the wordspleaseandonly, but not voicing them, since platitudes meant nothing to Theo.
Theodore Saxon was done with Scarlet Rhodes.
