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Dead. He was dead, and I was still alive.
I didn’t have time to revel in the miracle that fact felt like. Instead, in defiance of the pain lancing through my side, I hefted myself as straight as I could and aimed the gun at his closest followers.
Most of the other men looked worse for wear by now, sporting scrapes and gashes, even more unsteady than before on the ice. They stared back at me—the daughter of their boss, the woman who’d just killed the man who’d convinced them to take up this rebellion.
“Listen up, assholes,” I said, my voice crackling through the arena. “You bet on the wrong guy. Get the hell out of here now before I decide to blast the rest of you away too, and maybe the next time I see you, I’ll give you a second chance.”
Whatever Octavio had said to them to get them on board, it clearly wasn’t enough to outlive his demise. The men on the ice scrambled toward the boards without a backward glance.
Rafael was just tossing his last attacker off him. He drew his own gun and shot the prick in the face. That was plenty of motivation to get the last few goons hurtling for the doors as fast as their feet could carry them. The two who’d been restraining Niko fled for the stands after their departing colleagues.
My gun-hand dropped to my side. I found myself staring down at Octavio’s corpse, at the blood pooling under his head, defiling the ice.
The image of Coach Balakin’s murdered body flashed behind my eyes. A clammy sensation filled my lungs and crept over my skin. I hardly dared to lift my gaze and find out how my skater men were looking at me now—now that they’d seen just what violenceIwas capable of.
“Fucking bastards,” Rafael said in a ragged voice. “I know someone who can get this cleaned up, Lou. Don’t worry for one more second about that pinche cabrón.”
Skates hissed closer to me. I raised my head, knowing I had to face the real music—and a jolt of shock raced through my veins.
“Quentin!”
He’d pushed himself away from Octavio and onto his feet while I’d threatened our other attackers, but I hadn’t noticed—hadn’t realized—
A blotch of red was spreading swiftly down his pale green thermal tee from a wound on his left shoulder.
I pushed toward him, my thoughts spinning, my pulse kicking up to a frantic pace. “You were shot! When—”
It hit me before I could even finish the question. My eyes darted up to meet Quentin’s gaze. “You took the bullet he meant for me.”
Quentin’s face had gone sallow, his lips pinched with obvious pain, but he managed to lift his uninjured shoulder in a not particularly convincing shrug. “It’s not that bad. Better my shoulder than your head, right?”
The rasp in his voice told me I couldn’t believe his spoken assessment of the injury at all. I tore off my fleece and balled it against the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. “That was a fucking idiotic thing to do,” I said, but my voice shook with panic rather than anger.
Quentin let out a thin chuckle. “Had to show those assholes that figure skaters can handle themselves in a fight too.”
“Rafael!” I hollered toward the stands. “Get the first aid stuff—do you know a doctor we could go to?”
“On it!” he shouted back.
Jasper and Niko had come up around us, Jasper pressing his hand against a shallow cut on his jaw and Niko’s forehead reddening where he’d have a bruise by morning, but neither of them showing any injuries beyond that.
Jasper’s eyes were wide. His voice came out in a croak. “That… that was pretty goddamned amazing, Quentin. I couldn’t have gotten there in time.”
Niko set a careful hand on Quentin’s shoulder, his face glowing with relief. “I was so scared for her. You were there for Lou when we couldn’t be.”
Quentin stared at both of them, apparently more shellshocked by their gratitude than by the injury he’d taken to earn it. It occurred to me that I should probably express a little more of my own.
I grabbed his hand in mine and squeezed it. “You saved my life, Quentin. Thank you. He could have killedyou. I never would have asked—"
Quentin yanked his attention back to me. His eyes had gone a bit hazy with the pain, but their usual intensity returned as he held my gaze.
“No fucking way was I letting that prick hurt you if I could help it. I’m in this now—whenever you need me, however you need me. You never need to ask.”
Rafael hurried over to us with a handful of sterile pads and a roll of gauze from my equipment bag. “I made a couple of calls. We’ll get him fixed up.”
Quentin dipped his head. “Thanks.”
He said that, and he kept up his brave face, but he had to recognize that he hadn’t totally won here. He’d been lucky enough to make it out of the fight alive, yes… but with a wound like that, he could forget about training properly for at least a few weeks.
