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The man paused. For once, he fully turned his attention to Joey. "Wait, you saw him get shot in the chest?"
Joey nodded frantically. "So that means he's okay!"
"No, you weird little stripper, it means he got shot in the chest." The man got to his feet, his hand white-knuckled on his gun. "This ain't the movies. That shit breaks ribs."
Marco was in there, still alive—but injured.
At the Petrovs' mercies.
More cars pulled up. The man threw his arm up, beckoning them over.
"You're going in there?"
The man turned his hardened gaze towards Joey, his eyes glinting with a wild fire. "Yeah," he said, his voice dripping with a dangerous determination. "And I won't let those bastards get away with what they've done."
The man nodded to his men, and then, with a wild whoop, he threw himself into the club.
Joey's heart raced. In that moment, he made up his mind.
I walked away from him. That was a mistake.
I need to be with him.
Chapter sixteen
Joey
Joeycreptthroughtheopen door, his heart pounding in his chest as he reentered the club. The once sultry atmosphere was now replaced with chaos and violence. The air was thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder and sweat, punctuated by the deafening sound of gunfire.
The Toscano men were engaged in a fierce battle with the Petrov family gang, bullets flying through the air like lethal confetti. They were too busy taking down their enemies to focus on finding their man.
"Jesus christ," Joey muttered under his breath, ducking behind a velvet curtain as he surveyed the carnage.
His eyes darted around, searching for Marco amidst the chaos.
Where Marco's presumably-dead body should have fallen… was nothing at all.
He's not dead! He's not dead!
But if you don't watch out, you will be.
"Shit, shit, shit…" Joey whispered to himself, trying to quell the panic rising in his chest. He took a deep breath, knowing that he needed to keep a clear head if he wanted to save Marco. His time spent working at the club had made him intimately familiar with its layout, and he knew exactly what path to take to avoid the crossfire.
"Okay, you got this," Joey encouraged himself, feeling a surge of determination. He counted down from three, then sprung into action. Slipping past the mayhem unseen, he ducked and weaved between tables, narrowly avoiding a stray bullet that embedded itself into a nearby wall.
"Marco, I swear, if you're dead, I'm gonna kill you myself," he thought, his heart aching with worry. The adrenaline coursing through his veins made it impossible to focus on anything other than finding him alive and well.
As Joey made his way deeper into the club, he couldn't help but recall the many stolen moments they'd shared within these walls when everything was simpler and less dangerous.
Focus, Joey. You can reminisce later.
Finally, having navigated the dangerous battlefield, Joey found himself at the edge of the chaos. He knew he was close to Marco—he could feel it in his bones.
Joey's eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of Marco amidst the chaos. His heart pounded in his chest, threatening to drown out the sounds of gunshots and screaming.
He scrambled back behind the bar—his prison, and now his sanctuary.
And there, he finally found Marco.
