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“What do we do?” I ask.
Tears stream down my face. Jack waves his hand, clearing us back.
“I’ve done this shit before,” he says. “Get me wet and dry cloths. We need to get the blood flow stopped. Westin, get me all the first aid equipment you can find.”
I run up the stairs and wrench open the cabinet door in the bathroom. The ripped flannel from when I had my period is washed and folded beneath the sink. I gather an armful of itand run back downstairs. Jack has his head propped on a rolled blanket and he’s using a wad of paper towels to apply pressure above his ear.
“Get some of those wet,” he says.
Westin veers around the corner with a large first aid bag in his hand. Jack empties it on the counter, sorting through. His jaw is set and he’s totally focused. I wonder if he’s been through something like this before.
“Fuck…here we go,” he mumbles.
He pulls out a bundle of gauze, tape, and sticky bandages. I finish soaking the rags and he takes one and starts dabbing the flowing blood.
“Shouldn’t you apply pressure?” Westin asks.
“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Jack says, not looking up. “But I need to get a look at it.”
We gather around. He gently wipes the blood back, revealing a long wound about a half inch tall and five inches long. There’s no sign of his skull showing through. Jack releases a low whistle and folds a strip of gauze, applying it to the area.
My throat clenches.
“We just need to get the bleeding stopped. That could be a problem,” Jack says. “Westin, check the time.”
“It’s twelve-thirty,” he says.
“Okay, fifteen on, fifteen off,” he mumbles.
He puts one hand on the other side of Gerard’s head and keeps gentle pressure on the wound. I sink over the counter, reaching for Gerard’s hand. It’s limp, but still warm and familiar. I turn it over and stroke up his palm, tracing a faint scar that runs to his knuckle.
My Sovereign.
I shot a man for him. I saw Thomas raise his gun and I knew he would kill Gerard without hesitating. Something hard anddetached filled my chest. Muscle memory took over and I barely remember my hand going up or flipping the safety off.
I remember the sound. Thunk. The look on Thomas’s face as the bullet hit him in the shoulder. He jerked and swayed. I emptied the next two chunks of metal into his chest and upper thigh. His lips parted and blood covered his teeth.
I slid off Shadow and hit the ground. Something snapped under me.
My heart sinks. I reach in my pocket and pull out the painted mare. In my open palm sits two broken front legs.
I lose my shit.
Tears erupt and my chest heaves so hard I feel like I’m being crushed. My nails dig into Gerard’s palm. He twitches and turns his head, eyes cracking.
“Keira,” he murmurs.
Jack stares at me, frozen. He can deal with a head wound, but not a hysterically crying woman. Westin springs into action, circling the table and prying my grip from Gerard. He ushers me out of the kitchen and into the living room, pointing me towards the couch.
“I’m sorry, I’m fine,” I gasp.
“What happened, Keira?” he says, forcing me down on the couch.
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold onto the painted mare. “I went after Gerard and found him...he was in the pine grove. Then we were at the river and Thomas shot him and he went down.”
“So Thomas is still out there?” he says, his jaw set.
“No, no, I shot him,” I whisper, that sick feeling returning. “I shot him and blood came out of his mouth and he fell on the ground. He’s dead, up by the river.”
