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Fucking Cris. I should have known he had something to do with this.
Abel raises his head and looks at me through his nearly swollen-shut eyes and I try to read his face. He looks defeated. Hurt. Tired. Sad. A combination of the horror he’s been through over the past almost six hours. He shouldn’t be here. I should have kept him away from it all. I fucked up. I won’t continue to fail him.
Looking deeply into his eyes, I ask, “Will you forgive me?” I know I’m asking him to make a tough choice. Cris is his brother. No matter what, this is all the family he has left. Cris looks confused, probably wondering what I mean, but he pulls Abel back to him tighter, trying to hide as much of his large frame behind Abel’s slight body. My eyes shift back to Abel and I see him nod.
I don’t think. I just raise my gun and fire one shot, hitting Cris in the middle of his forehead. He drops immediately, his huge body landing almost on Abel’s, knife clattering across the floor. After tossing the dead weight off, I look down at Abel and see he’s barely conscious. Quickly scooping him up, I pull him to my chest, making him groan and sob. He sobs harder when I draw him closer to me, making sure I have a hold on him while we get the fuck out of here. It makes me feel terrible, but his safety is more important right now. After a few seconds, his sobs quiet and he goes limp, but he’s still breathing. Good, he’s passed out. No more pain.
By the time I rush back down the hall, the gunfire and shouts have died down, a few cropping up now and then. I see the bodies we brought in are gone from the front, so Quin and Michael must have moved them. I hustle Abel out of the warehouse and see Michael behind the wheel of a random car, Quin slumped over in the passenger seat, panting as he strips off his shirt and bulletproof vest.
“Call our guys out, now!” I yell at Michael as I slide into the back, tucking Abel to my chest. He sobs again, and I try to soothe him as much as possible. Michael talks over his radio and less than a minute later, I see about fifteen people, a combination of Irishmen and mine, rushing out, Paddy leading the pack. Less people than went inside. I curse to myself, but that can’t be helped. “Go, get us out of here. Then blow it the fuck up!”
He does what I say and puts his foot on the gas, quickly picking up speed. I see him move his hand to the remote detonator and I tuck myself around Abel, who has quieted down or passed out again.
The explosion behind us is loud, and I can almost feel the heat against my skin. Abel starts to groan again and I shush him, kissing his hair, the only place I’m sure has no bumps and bruises. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here. I’m here,” I murmur to him, hoping he can hear me and hoping he knows he’s safe. “You’re safe. I promise. Stay with me, please. I can’t do this without you. I love you, Abel. I love you so fucking much,” I whisper to him, gingerly tucking his head under my neck.
Closing my eyes, I hold him close, wondering if he’ll be okay and if he’ll come back to me. Just as the thought enters my mind, Abel lifts his hand and places it on my chest, right over my heart. Then he kisses my neck and lets out a long breath before passing out once more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Abel
Mymouthissodry that I feel like I swallowed a mouthful of sand. I try to turn to the side, to get some warmth from Savage, maybe ask him to grab me a bottle of water from the kitchen so I can chug it. I know he hates when I ask him to get out of bed for something like water or a snack, but he indulges me. Maybe that’s an example of love?
But when I try to move on my side, my body lights up and I feel every bump and bruise on my body. I whimper and reach beside me, feeling a knee, then a thigh, then a hard stomach. I force my eyes open and I see that I’m lying in a twin bed with a rough blanket thrown over me. Savage is sleeping in the chair beside me, his body what I’m touching.
“Sav?” I croak out. His eyes snap open and they land on me. His face crumples, and he gingerly takes my face in his hands.
“Oh, Abel. I’m so sorry. I should have … I should have been there. I’m sorry.” A tear leaks from his eye and he wipes it quickly.
Clearing my throat, I reach my hand out to him and see a crude cast on my wrist. What the hell? Savage follows my eyes and grimaces. “We couldn’t take you to a hospital. We’re with my family doctor. He’s checked you over and says you’ll be fine. You have a few broken ribs, your wrist is fractured, and your nose is broken, but that’s the worst of it.” He pulls in a stuttering breath. “They beat you so badly, baby. I was afraid you wouldn’t come back to me.”
Looks like we had the same fear. I didn’t think I would survive it. Not after the last beating. The Torturer is—was?—extremely strong. Every blow he landed made an impact, and I can still feel where his fists and feet landed. I’m thankful he didn’t do anything to cause lasting damage.
Trying to pull myself up to a sitting position is a struggle, but Savage helps me up and I lean back on the thin pillows that are behind me. I know I should probably lay down to let my body rest and heal, but I want to talk to him and if I’m lying down, I’ll just fall asleep again.
Savage meets my eyes and I see uncertainty and regret swimming in them. I know he’s worried about what I’ll say about him shooting Cris. While I’m sad my brother is dead and I’ll probably need some time to process the fact that I don’t have any more blood relatives, I can’t find it in me to be upset with Savage. I know if it weren’t for him, Cris probably would have let the Torturer kill me because he couldn’t get to Sav. I wish there was another way, I really do, but what was the alternative? Letting him slit my throat? Savage would have killed him anyway had he done that.
And I kind of sanctioned it. Had I not nodded, giving him my assent that I would forgive him, he wouldn’t have shot Cris. I know it. I’m the reason my brother is dead. Savage was trying to protect me like he’s been trying to do since we started dating. I think we’re dating, anyway. A question for another time.
“How did you find me?” My voice sounds rough and scratchy. “How long have I been out?”
“Almost a full day.” That explains why I have to piss like a racehorse. “And … I used the app I put on your phone a few months back. I’m sorry I kept it there, invading your privacy.”
I laugh, then groan and hold my side. Fucking broken ribs. “It’s fine, Sav. You wouldn’t have found me otherwise.” I lean my head back against the pillow and try to take deep breaths to stop the tears, but they stream down my face. “Cris,” I tell him in a choked voice. “He saw us at my graduation. Baby, I’m so sorry.”
The sobs that come from me are from fear that Savage could have been killed more than the pain from my ribs. He gathers me in his arms and holds me gingerly, being careful of the bruises on my body. I breathe shallowly, both to calm down and avoid hurting myself further. When I’m cried out, I pull back from him so I can meet his eyes. “You were right about them using me to get to you. I wish I wouldn’t have asked you to come to my graduation. You could have … they could have gotten you. You could have …” I can’t bear to say the words or I’ll start crying again.
Framing my face gently with his big hands, he looks into my eyes. “Baby, don’t blame yourself. I chose to come to your graduation. I don’t regret that. What I regret is not being able to protect you. I regret you getting hurt because of me. They—” He lets out a harsh noise, then cuts it off quickly. “They hurt you bad. I wish I could kill them all over again.”
“How did you get us out? What happened?”
Savage launches into a tale that sounds like something out of a movie. How Quin had connections to a coroner and medical examiner that reserved bodies for us. How that doctor will alter the results for autopsy reports. That I’m legally dead and so are him, Michael, and Quin. Then he told me about the explosion, which I remember because of the unbearable heat I felt before I passed out.
When he’s done, he looks at me with an incomprehensible look on his face. “Are you … will you … how do you feel, baby? About Cris?”
Letting out a sigh, I ask, “Can you help me up, please? I really gotta pee.”
He looks startled, but he does me one better and scoops me up. It hurts, but I think walking would hurt more. Savage walks me over to a bathroom and, instead of helping me stand, he pulls my pants down and plops me on the toilet. I’m too sore to complain. He helps me clean up, wash my hands, and takes me back to the bed.
