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“Not so quick,” he mutters. “I’m not an idiot.”
My heart pounds against my ribs, but I force out a laugh. “You really are,” I say as I grip the weapon in the drawer, praying I can get a shot off before I drop.
This isn’t about bargaining for my life. Mine is done. This is as far as I go. But protecting Cat? That will be the last thing I do.
When I spin, a deafening shot rings out, and pain almost as sharp as I felt the day I walked away from Cat radiates through my leg.
I fall to the floor but try like hell to stifle the groan that slips out. The second the sound rips from my lungs, I know my fierce Cat won’t stay put.
And as if on cue, the door to the closet flies open. Gasping, she falls to the floor, still in her ballgown, and crawls to me as Frank rushes out behind her. Rather than going for Cat, though, Frank rushes his brother with a shout.
Cat falls on top of me, tears already cascading down her face. “You’ve been shot!”
“Get in the closet, Cat,” I grit, pushing her back so I can use my body to block her.
“Stop, Jay,” she cries. “You’re hurt.”
I grab the gun from the floor beside me and point it to where Frank and his brother are wrestling across the room. Evan’s gun sits halfway between them and where we lie near the bed. I try like hell to steady my hands and focus on my target, but the way they keep moving makes it impossible to get a clear shot of Evan without risking Frank.
Grunts fill the room as they fight, and Cat’s sobs break me as she curls into my chest, begging me to live.
When Evan gets Frank on his back, straddling him and wrapping his hands around his throat, I know I have my last opportunity. If I don’t take this shot, he’ll have a chance to hurt my wife.
“Love you,” I murmur as I aim the gun and fire.
The shots ring out in rapid succession. The first misses and draws Evan’s attention. He eyes his gun on the floor a few feet from him, and releasing his brother, he pushes to stand, ready to defend himself. That’s when I take my second shot, hitting him in the forehead. When he falls back with a loud thud, Cat clutches me and screams.
“You okay?” I holler to Frank as I grip my wife tightly.
He grunts and lifts his head up. “Yeah, good shot.” Then he drops back to the floor and sprawls out. “You okay?”
I’m not sure.
Blood pools on the floor under me, and nausea rolls through my gut. “You gotta,” I whisper. “Cat.” I grasp her hand to get her attention, to break through her uncontrollable sobs and ground her. “Cat, you need to get me to the hospital,” I rasp.
“Oh God,” she cries, her eyes going wide at the puddle of blood we’re lying in. “Fuck, Jay. I’ll call an ambulance.”
Frank shouts his disagreement as I shake my head.
He heaves himself off the floor and moves out of view. When he returns, he has a shirt in one hand, and he drops down beside me. With one quick tug, he rips the seam of my pants.
“I liked those,” I grumble, a little woozy.
He smirks. “You can afford another pair.”
Chills rack my body, and my teeth chatter.
Beside me, Cat sobs harder. “He’s getting cold. We need to call an ambulance.”
Frank gingerly moves my leg one way and then the other. “Thank fuck. It’s a clean shot. We just need to get the bleeding to stop, and then you need to get him to the hospital.”
“Why can’t we call an ambulance?” she pleads, while Frank makes a tourniquet out of my shirt. His military training is coming in handy. Thank you, United States Marines.
“Remind me to buy you a car,” I grit out.
With a grin, he ties the tourniquet tight, sending a burning pain searing through me. “I look good in red.”
I grunt at the pain and take a few deep breaths. “You got it.”
