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“Not if I torture and kill him,” Desmond grinds out, pressing a towel to Matty’s wound.
“You will not kill Lyric’s brother,” his mom snaps.
Dom pushes Desmond out of the way, his eyes assessing as he places his bag beside him. “No killing my patients.” His voice is far deeper than Desmond’s and severe. He reminds me of a surgeon with dry humor. “Deal with the girl. She looks like she’s going to pass out.”
“Charlotte. My name is Charlotte,” I snap.
“Where’s Lyric?” Dom questions, flat-out ignoring me. He acts as though I don’t even exist. That’s fine by me, as long as he saves Matty.
“I don’t know,” Desmond snarls at his brother.
Dom just nods and goes back to his patient, assessing him.
The woman, their mom, turns to me. “Don’t worry, Matty will be okay. His hip will hurt like hell for a while, but he’s all right.”
“I haven’t stated that yet,” Dom interrupts his mother.
She ignores him. “I’m Brooklyn. Call me that or Mama, you choose, and yes, that is my chosen name.” She winks at me, pulling a surprised laugh from me. “Is my grandson sleeping?”
“What?” I frown, because in the chaos of the moment, that is the last thing I expected her to say to me. It’s as though a man bleeding out on the floor doesn’t faze her.
“Milo?” She plops the bullet into a container and drops it into her bag. “Is he sleeping?”
“Yes.” I frown at her. “You called him?—”
“Grandson? Of course I did,” she says, not batting an eyelash. “You are family now, Charlotte. Therefore, Milo is my grandson,” she replies as though it’s obvious.
“Sleeping. Yes.” I think I’ve forgotten how to use words.
“I need him transported to the clinic,” Dom says. “There are bone fragments I need to remove. It isn’t a close shot. Otherwise, the bullet would have shattered his hip, but it was close enough.”
“It isn’t one of our bullets,” Brooklyn says. “In fact, I’m not sure whom this belongs to.”
Dom just grunts in response, pulling out his phone. “The child. He’s going to wake from the commotion,” he says, and I think he’s talking to me, but he never addresses me, not directly at least.
“I’ve got him,” Desmond says. “Just outside of town.”
“Lyric?” I scramble up. There’s so much going on that I can hear my blood whoosh in my ears, threatening to prevent me from hearing everyone.
“Yes.” Desmond pockets his phone. “I need to go.”
“Take me with you.” I stand up too fast, and black spots dance in my vision. “I need to go.”
“No.” Desmond doesn’t even hesitate.
“Take her.” Brooklyn grabs her son’s bicep, her nails digging into his arm. “Don’t deny her when she chose you two.”
“Three,” I interrupt, my heart thumping wildly in my chest at what I just said. I’m claiming all three of them. “Matty too.”
Desmond grinds his teeth, his eyes darkening as he looks from me to his mom.
“I hope you know how to shoot a gun,” Dom says from the ground. “Otherwise, I’ll be picking bullets out of you later.”
“Dominic,” Brooklyn scolds.
“Lottie?” Milo’s sleepy voice pulls me from the group, and I rush toward Milo, who stands just past the archway to the kitchen. “What happened to Matty?”
He’s rubbing his eyes sleepily as I hug him tight and kneel before him, blocking his view of Matty. “Hey, Lyric is in some trouble. I need to go find him.”
