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Before he can answer, the door slams open and one of the hospital security guards bursts in, gun drawn and aimed with deadly intent. The tension snaps like a wire pulled too taut. I can feel the moment teetering on the edge of carnage, and my gut tells me this is gonna get real ugly, real fast.
"Shit," I whisper to myself, as I brace for what's coming next.
The acrid stink of gunpowder bites at my nostrils as the first shot rips through the heavy air, a deafening roar that signals the plunge into chaos. I shove Evelyn hard enough to send her stumbling behind me. My heart's pounding out a sick rhythm against my ribs, but it's the sight of Sebastian, his gun leveled with lethal calm at one of Declan's goons, that knots my stomach tight.
"Sebastian!" I bark, trying to draw his attention, but it's no use; he's locked in this deadly dance, eyes fixed on his opponent like the world's narrowed down to the space between their triggers.
Evan's cries slice through the gunfire, and I see Evelyn break for him, maternal instinct or some shit driving her straight into the line of fire. "No!" The word bursts from me, ragged and desperate, because if she gets hit-I can't even finish the thought.
Everyone's heads snap toward her, and that split second of distraction is all I need. I lunge forward, barreling toward the goon whose weapon is swinging toward Evelyn and Evan. I'm an animal, all instinct—no strategy—as I tackle him to the ground, the impact jarring my bones.
Then pain explodes across my back, white-hot and searing. Declan got off a shot—fucking Declan—and I'm face-down on the cold floor, the taste of iron hot in my mouth. Evelyn screams my name, a sound that drills into my skull, but I force myself up, ignoring the throbbing agony.
I turn and train my gun right on Declan. I should shoot the fucker, but I know that if I do, his goons will shoot Evelyn or the kid.
"Constantino!" Her voice is raw panic, but when I lock eyes with her, I find my center again.
"I'm okay," I lie through gritted teeth, because there's no way in hell I'm leaving her thinking I'm dead. Not yet.
I keep eye contact with Declan. He's frozen in place, but this will only last so long.
"Take Evan. Get inside the hospital. Hide." I shove my words at her like bullets, each one loaded with urgency.
She hesitates, and I can feel just how much she wants to argue with me. But time's not on our side, so I raise my voice at her. "Don't argue! Go!"
Her lips press into a thin line, but she turns, scooping Evan into her arms and sprinting toward safety. The doors slam shut behind them, and the sound echoes, strangely final.
I push to my feet, pain singing through me, and level my gun at Declan. The bastard grins at me, bloodthirsty and cocksure. "Looks like I got you good, eh, Constantino?"
"Should've aimed for the head," I say, the words like razors in my throat. My grip on the gun is steady despite the tremor running through me—a tremor that isn't just from the gunshot.
If this goes south, if my secret gets out, I'm done for. But right now, it's just me and him and the reckoning that's been a long time coming.
"Declan," I start, voice low and dangerous as a predator's growl, "you should've stayed in your shitty little pub. You're gonna regret stepping foot in here."
His laughter rings out, hollow and mirthless, but I've already tuned him out, focusing on the only thing that matters—I'm still standing, and he's not walking away from this. Not this time.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
My breath catches, and suddenly, I'm a blur of motion, instinct overtaking thought. The concrete chills my skin as I skid to the little boy, yanking him into my arms. But then it's there—the cold, unfeeling glint of metal. A gun barrel points our way, promising nothing but darkness.
"Get down!" I hiss, pulling the boy closer.
Out of nowhere, Constantino hurtles towards danger like some kind of avenging angel—if angels were made of leather jackets and rage. His dark hair whips around his face, those green eyes fixed on the threat. He's primal, fierce—this is the game he plays, the one where no safeword can save you.
"Constantino!" My voice shreds with panic as he clashes with the gunman—a struggle of shadows and fury.
Then it happens—a sound that rips through the air, a gunshot that echoes like a death knell. My heart stops as Constantino crumples, a puppet with its strings cut. "No!" My scream shatters the silence, a raw, animal sound.
"Get inside the hospital. Hide." Constantino's voice is rough, barely above a whisper, but it slices through the haze of my shock. He's down but not out—typical Constantino, too stubborn to just die.
I watch blood seeping through his clothes like a cruel bloom and I'm about to shout at him that I'm not leaving him here to die.
"Don't argue! Go!" Damn him, the bastard's right. I scoop up the little boy, his small body trembling against mine, and we bolt through the hospital doors, leaving Constantino and Sebastian behind.
"Stay with me," I murmur to the boy, threading through the sterile hospital corridors, the stench of antiseptic doing nothing to cleanse the fear from my lungs. I can't afford to let my guard down, not even for a second.
Constantino's words ring in my ears, a mantra of survival. Hide. Don't argue. Live. But beneath it all, his image haunts me—the way he fell, how his wristband slipped, revealing that tattoo he hates so much, a brand of vulnerability he never shows.
