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Without thinking, I lunge forward to tackle the back of the assassin’s legs just as several shots ring out. Within seconds the man standing above me crumples into a heap on top of me. From the feel of the dead weight, I surmise Atlas has returned fire with deadly force.
My relief at knowing the threat has been neutralized is short lived as I realize that the pain in my shoulder is getting worse and not better.
I gasp for each breath as the body crushes me into the carpet. I’m able to catch a deeper breath as soon as Atlas lifts the assassin off me, shoving the jerk aside as if he were garbage. Only after he reaches out to confirm the asshole is dead does he appear above me, a worried grimace on his face.
“Stay still,” he barks his order much too loudly.
It isn’t until he presses one of the linen napkins from the table against my chest that I suspect the pain I’m feeling is more than just falling hard against my shoulder.
The screaming and crying I hear happening around us begins to fade as a new ringing starts humming in my ears. I do my best to stay focused on Atlas’s concerned face just a few feet above me. The lines creasing his forehead compliment the scowl of worry on his face. His cell phone is in his free hand as he lifts it to his ear. Bright red blood drips down from his hand to his wrist, covering his expensive watch.
A spike of worry registers at the thought of him being hurt. In the heat of the moment, I know with a clarity rarely felt that I don’t want to live in a world he isn’t part of. But as the ringing obliterates the sounds around me, a few stray words register in my brain.
Valentina’s been shot.
The blood is mine. It’s funny because I’ve always assumed it would hurt a lot more to get shot. Even in my precarious position, I suspect I’m going into shock. The spots appearing in my vision, making Atlas’s face swim above me, are my final clue that I’m about to pass out.
Is this what it feels like to die? If so, there is one thing I need to do first.
“Atlas,” I croak, my voice soft.
“Shhh, don’t talk. Save your strength. Z is sending help.”
“But…” I struggle to take a deep enough breath to be able to speak. “Thank you…”
“Fuck, Valentina. You get shot saving my life and the first thing you want to do is say thanks? What the hell for?”
I swallow a few times to keep the bile I feel rising up in my chest from erupting.
“… like a dream,” I hear my words sounding far away just as Atlas’s face goes black above me.
I can only hope this was all just a bad nightmare I’ll wake up from soon.
Chapter Twenty-one
ATLAS
I’ve survived an explosion before. Running as fast as I can, taking that last final dive moments before an inferno of flame erupts behind me. My body was rocked, my ears were ringing, and I wasn’t sure if I was truly alive or in limbo between heaven and hell. It’s a sensation I never wanted to experience again. I never wanted to relive that kind of horror. I didn’t want to have to face death square in the face and tell him to fuck off.
And yet…here I am doing it right now.
Watching Valentina get shot is far worse on my entire body and soul than an explosion.
I can’t breathe. I can’t focus. And yet I have no choice.
Pressing against the bloody wound of her shoulder, I shout, “You’re going to be okay. You stay with me. Valentina, open your eyes and stay with me.”
She’s still breathing, but unconscious as she lies limply in my arms.
Jeremy runs up to me, squats down beside us with a towel to apply to the gushing bullet wound, and says, “There’s a car in the back alley waiting to take you to Z. Go. I’ll handle everything here.”
I look up from Valentina for the first time and notice there are patrons who didn’t flee the restaurant screaming, are trying to see what all the commotion is in the back of the room. They want to see who is shot, or who is dead. The fact the assassin and I both used a silencer didn’t help as much as I would have liked, since we have a restaurant full of screaming and chaos. This is going to be extremely challenging for Jeremy to clean up. He’s respected as a man who can be counted on for being discreet, but this could be more than he bargained for when he allowed me to dine tonight.
“Do you need Z?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I got this covered. You worry about her.”
