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“No!” Savva’s voice calls out, cracking with anguish.
30
Savva
I’m too late. Oakley’s pale body is drenched in crimson, her eyes half-closed as Stone pulls her small body against his large torso and presses his blade against her delicate neck. I can’t save her from harm, but I also won’t let her die like this.
Stone’s gang members grab me immediately, their hands digging into my biceps so hard that my eyes water. They hold me in place in the doorway as Stone’s grimace turns into a crooked smile.
He looks down at Oakley, then up at me. “Oh, you thought you could be the hero today, didn’t you? You really believed that by running in here by yourself, you could somehow stop me from slitting your stupid little bitch’s neck?”
“Just… Just stop. We can talk about this,” I gasp, feeling like the air has been sucked from the room.
“After what you did to my brother? I don’t fucking think so. You owe blood, motherfucker, and I’m here to collect it,” Stone growls.
I shake my head. “You want me. I killed your brother, not her. She had nothing to do with this.”
He looks down at Oakley again. She looks terrified, her eyes so wide they’re threatening to fall out of her head. She’s pale as a ghost, her expression begging me to do something,anything, to save her.
My heart breaks as I realize how badly I’ve failed her. If she doesn’t make it out of this alive, there’s no point in me going on. I would gladly kneel before Stone and wait to be executed just so that I could join her in the afterlife.
But even after making the ultimate sacrifice, I wouldn’t deserve her.
Not after what I’ve done.
I take a shaky breath, trying to collect my thoughts enough to continue reasoning with Stone. Actions aren’t going to convince him to set her free. I can’t overpower his entire gang. Maybe if I had been here already when they arrived, but not now. The opportunity for brute force has already passed.
“You should kill me,” I say, looking away from Oakley so that I don’t have to see the tortured agony in her eyes anymore. “Just take me and leave her alone.”
“I could kill both of you,” he says with a smirk, clearly enjoying the mental torment he’s causing me more than the actual kill. Oakley means nothing to him, and he’ll get nothing from ending her life.
Me, on the other hand…
“You’re not angry that I killed your brother? I barely even thought about it,” I say, switching my tone in a last-ditch effort to turn his calculated thoughts into chaos. It’s risky, but I have no other option.
“Bring that stupid motherfucker to me!” Stone shrieks at his men, loosening his grip on Oakley in anticipation of receiving me in her place.
Oakley’s eyes meet mine, and we both know what we have to do. The moment that they try to adjust their grip on my arms, I jerk my body so hard that my stomach hurts, falling away from them and reaching for the gun tucked deep in my waistband.
Oakley falls to the ground, taking cover with her hands over her head as I shoot without aiming. The room explodes into pandemonium, Stone’s gang tripping over each other as some of them reach for weapons while others rush toward the exit.
I empty my entire 16-round magazine in Stone’s direction in under two seconds, switching to the smaller gun in my boot as I rush him. He’s stunned by my action, unable to do anything but let out a deep grunt as I slam into him, pressing the gun into his chest and pulling the trigger.
We fall against the desk together, rolling across the floor as the remainder of Stone’s men flee instead of fighting. Even with guns, they won’t fight a man who just killed their leader. They’re nothing without Stone.
Oakley rolls toward her shotgun, grabbing it and aiming at the door. She pulls the trigger, missing the door entirely and blowing a cluster of holes in the wall beside it. Someone screams, and I can hear them hit the floor on the other side.
Maybe she didn’t miss after all.
I jump up off Stone, who has become a dead weight on the floor. It’ll be difficult to move him without help, but I need to tend to Oakley now. I can’t allow her to bleed out after we’ve managed to secure the area. We’re so close to getting out of this alive.
“Fuck, how bad is it?” I ask, rushing toward her and looking over her bloody shirt.
“I don’t know,” she replies, dropping the shotgun. She’s trembling hard as she pushes her fingers through the slashes in the fabric. “He cut me, but he didn’t stab me.”
I let out a deep sigh. Cuts can be deadly too, and need to be stitched up to heal properly, but nothing is worse than a stab wound. If Stone had stabbed her, he could’ve collapsed her lung or sliced through another essential organ, causing her to bleed internally.
But despite the blood, the damage appears minimal.
